Inferno
by Rock114
Summary: Months after their narrow escape from Macon, Conner and Farley are doing relatively well. They have a group, food, and most importantly they have a routine. But as a new threat reveals itself, they discover that one of their members isn't who they seem to be. Tired, outnumbered, and sold out, the group stands on the brink of oblivion as they see how far a good man can fall.
1. (1) Resupply

298 Days In

The shutter clattered on its tracks as Farley hefted it upward. The orange glow of sunset cast dim beams of light through the now open garage door, and dust particles flittered around in the air as the large garage's musty, aged air rushed past them. Behind him, Conner jumped through the opening with his M4 raised high, scanning for potential threats. With a soft click, the flashlight mounted on Conner's weapon sprung to life, illuminating even the farthest, darkest corners of the building. From behind him, a firm voice pierced the relatively silent area. "Did we hit the jackpot?"

Conner held his position just inside the garage doors while Farley turned to the voice's owner. Standing six feet tall in his dirt crusted plaid shirt and torn blue jeans, Tanner very much looked like a weary survivor. Of course he probably didn't look much better in his faded, wrinkled National Guard uniform complete with greasy beard. "Not yet, boss," he whispered. "You and me can stay out here and hold down the fort. Conner and Jennifer can search the joint. He'll know what to look for." Turning to his friend, and fellow former soldier, Farley gave Conner's rucksack a small, but noticeable, yank. "Get the lead out, Smiley," he joked. "I know you've just been waiting for a chance to relive the glorious life we once knew as members of the United States Armed Forces."

Conner merely grunted a subdued affirmative and took point. From the entrance to the empty garage, Farley called out to them. "Be back in twenty minutes, or we leave without you."

Jennifer snorted. "Alright mom, we won't cross the street either."

Farley extended his middle finger. "Fuck you too. Oh, and any white powder you see in there is probably highly explosive. I know you're nostalgic for your days of raiding the evidence locker back at the precinct, but I'm warning you for your own good."

"Thanks Farley. I'm so glad you care," she retorted sarcastically. And with that, Conner and Jennifer disappeared through a small, cracked door leading into the outfitting area. Striding up next to him, Tanner held his hunting rifle at his side in his right hand.

"You and Jen have really been going at it lately. 'Raiding the evidence locker'? That's new." He sighed and looked around, though he wasn't very concerned with any potential threats. Farley readied his M4 and began pacing a patrol pattern around what had once been a National Guard motor pool, now devoid of working vehicles. Hopefully, there was still ammo around here. He and Conner were running low.

"She's a bitch, Tanner. Just because she used to be a cop doesn't mean she can look down on us the way she does."

Before the outbreak, and even during the early weeks, Jennifer had been a police officer in the city of Athens, Georgia. As far as any of them knew she was the only member of her police unit to make it out of the city alive after it fell to the undead. She and Riley had encountered Beth, Alex, Bradley, and Melissa on their way to Atlanta, where they took in Conner and Farley. It had been a few months until Tanner had joined them, when they finally peaked in number. That was, until the incident with Bradley.

"She doesn't. You're just angry that she and Riley are using up the group's sarcasm before you can." Farley just shrugged, continuing his patrol pattern. "Hey, can I ask you something about Conner?" Tanner hesitantly ventured.

"Shoot. But I'm almost out of ammo, so it won't be a fair fight."

"Ha ha," his leader said flatly. "Anyway, was he always like this? Was he always so-"

"Happy? Optimistic? Outgoing?"

"Don't joke. He's your friend. You're the only one he ever really speaks to on the rare occasion he actually speaks."

"Check this out, man." Perturbed, Tanner paced over to Farley who was standing next to a massive cargo truck with a covered bed. The rear was empty, save for dust and an empty bird's next, but the driver still sat behind the wheel in the front seat. Blood was spattered all over the windshield from the inside, and the soldier was lying against the wheel with his sidearm still clutched in his skeletal hand. Tanner looked away. "Must have shot himself when everything went down," Farley mused. "Then there's this guy," he said, walking the perimeter of the truck to the other side.

Tanner was growing impatient. "Why did you want me to see this?"

"I dunno, to contemplate the moment with me? I feel it really speaks a lot about the world and our place in it, especially nowadays."

Under one of the gargantuan tires situated in the front of the truck was the remains of another soldier. Unlike the former driver of the vehicle, this one was very much mobile. The tire was crushing the creature's chest to the ground, leaving it unable to move from its spot as it thrashed around and reached for the two men just out of range of its clammy, bony fingers. "Gee, thanks for the image Farley. I really needed that boost today."

"It's what I'm here for. Wait a minute…"

Tanner almost at his limit. "What is it now? Is he a friend of yours?"

"Actually yes, he is." Farley poked at the collar of the beast's uniform, indicating two black bars side by side. "I can't believe it, but this guy used to be our CO."

"That's crap, Farley. What are the odds of running into him like this?"

"I have no idea," Farley admitted, almost at a loss for words. "This asshole used to be Captain Jonas, the commander of our company. He never liked me. He was always complaining about my cigarettes, saying that 'No man in this company is gonna give himself to cancer,' even when we got called up at the beginning of this whole mess. As if I have to worry about dying of _that_ these days. Prick. Speaking of, you wouldn't happen to have any smokes, would you?"

"You still haven't answered my question," Tanner stated, avoiding Farley's own. He only had one left, his favorite brand, _Red & Gold._ Leading Farley back to the garage, Tanner crossed his arms with a look of consternation about his face.

Farley sighed. "It's a long story. You remember that I said we lost our squad in Macon during the first week?" Tanner nodded. "Beth and I never said anything, but when she found us outside Atlanta Conner was in the middle of a meltdown. A big one. He saw the city was overrun, and he just… snapped, I guess."

"Is he gonna be alright?"

"He used to be a normal guy, you know? He'd talk with people and joke around, and we even watched movies on the weekends together, when we weren't training with the Guard. Hell, I was going to marry his sister once we were discharged." Solemnly, Farley shook his head. "It changed him. I thought he'd move past it, but he hasn't. Now he just closes himself off to most people, except me and Beth. On some days, he won't even talk to us. If things get any worse, well… I think he might lose it if he doesn't manage to come back from this."

"Is it really that bad?"

Farley was silent for several seconds. "Maybe."

Now Tanner was concerned. "Does he have a history of...this? Should we do anyth-"

"We've hit pay dirt!" Jennifer shouted from the back of the garage. Triumphantly, she strode outside, blonde ponytail bouncing gently on the back of her head. Her expression of victory belied her stained and frayed dark blue hunting vest, and as always Farley spied the upper portion of a police badge sticking out of the coat's front pocket. Behind her, he saw Conner struggling to walk normally, despite being weighed down by his now enormous rucksack. "Mr. Comedian and I found an armory back there. Most of it was looted, but there were two entire cases of ammo for your M4s." Behind her, Conner was still attempting to stay upright. Conner waved Tanner away, but the group leader insisted on easing the soldier's burden and began shoving M4 Carbine magazines into his own pack. Farley cocked an eyebrow at Jennifer, but she shrugged. "He insisted on carrying it. Really."

"Uh huh."

"I'm serious. It was very chivalrous of him. You could learn a thing or-" She stopped suddenly, giving a mock gasp and putting her hand in front of her mouth in a show of false embarrassment. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot that you can't. My mistake."

"Guys, we're leaving." Sternly, Tanner pointed out toward the western edge of the fence where the four of them could see a growing mass of undead congregating. Around a dozen were pushing themselves up against the metal links in the distance and a few more could be seen faintly wandering in their direction from farther out. The walkers kept their milky white eyes trained on the survivors as they attempted, in vain, to topple the barrier and make their way inside. "Now."

Conner brushed between the two and jerked his head toward the gates of the abandoned National Guard outpost, motioning for them to get moving. Jennifer walked with him as he continued on, and the two were followed closely by Tanner, his own pack now full of much of Conner's ammunition. Clenching his fists, Farley glared at the woman. "Well, fuck you too!" he called, before running forward to join them again.

At the fence, the undead tracked their progress and began their slow shuffle to the forest. By the time they reached the tree line they had already forgotten what they were chasing. The sound of a bird chirping nearby drew their attention away from the forest and in search of the newest breach in the forest's quilt of solitude.


	2. (2) Downtime

**Chapter 2**

A voice boomed through the blackness of the night as the group drew near their camp, sending the few animals around scurrying for cover. "HALT! Who goes there?"

Jennifer sighed. "Riley, it's us."

Out of the bushes stepped a figure in a dark gray hoodie, hunting rifle resting on his shoulder. Thick stubble clung to his chin, and greasy brown hair hung low enough to nearly cover his eyes. A pair of scuffed glasses sat upon his face, giving off an air of weathered, lighthearted intelligence. He cleared the strands of loose hair from his eyes and gave a smirk as Conner, Farley, and Tanner fought their way the last few feet through the thick bushes and came to stand behind Jennifer. "Who's this 'us'? This 'us" wouldn't happen to have a password, would they?" he asked mockingly.

"The password is 'Get out of the way before I handcuff you to the nearest tree and make you spend the night like that again.'"

Riley shrugged, and then stepped to the side. "Fine, don't do your part to protect the camp. If you really _are _Jennifer, that is."

Farley pushed past him. "Kid, if you were really protecting the camp, you would have shot us if we'd gotten this close without you noticing."

Glaring, Riley snapped back. "Maybe it's time to fix that." The teenager mimed holding a gun in his free hand, and said _bang _as he "shot" Farley. The soldier sneered at him.

"Don't think I won't kick your ass just because you're seventeen. You wouldn't be so tough without your mom to stand up for you," he said, pointing a thumb at Jennifer.

"Jesus Farley, can't you learn to take a goddamn joke?"

The tired soldier chuckled under his breath. "Exactly like that. Thanks for proving my point, Officer Asshole."

"I proved your point? Like what happened with Bradley proved a point about you?"

With barely controlled anger, he swung around to Jennifer as if he intended to strike her. She met his glare without flinching and raised her arms in front of her in a self-defense stance, letting her police training take over. Farley opened his mouth to say something while he began to bring his fist back for a blow, but Tanner pushed his way between the two before either could continue. "That. Is. Enough. We are all in the same group, and if we don't look out for each other we will _die. _Am I clear?"

"Whatever," Farley snapped as his anger seemed to simmer in the air around him. "I don't need this crap anyway." Without another word, he forced his way through the final few bushes to the group's camp with Conner at his tail. Riley gave the back of Farley's head a furious, almost deadly stare before he too stepped into the camp. Jennifer went to follow, but Tanner caught her arm. His steely gaze seemed to bore through her but, like with Farley, she stood her ground.

"We all agreed that if Farley hadn't done what he did, none of us would have survived. And we're all lucky that Bradley was the only one who died. Now drop it." She yanked her arm out of Tanner's grip and continued after Riley into the camp as his words were deflected off of the cold, hard surface of her thoughts. Nothing anyone said could ever take back what happened to Bradley.

A campfire was roaring at the center of a circle of tents with the steady, soothing crackling of the flames proving somewhat successful in calming her. Beth, Alex, and Melissa were seated around it, food already in hand. She took a seat next to Riley, who was sitting directly opposite Conner and Farley. Beth, ever the peacemaker, passed the cans around, along with a few reassuring words meant to ease tensions in the wake of the confrontation between Jennifer and Farley.

Having worked in law enforcement for several years, Jennifer had never once met a lawyer she could consider a decent person. She would be the first to admit that the only ones she had ever encountered were the ones defending the assorted drug dealers, murderers, and litterbugs that she and Martin had brought in over the years, which gave her a skewed perspective on the matter. Going against her expectations, Beth had proven to be a valuable and, hilariously enough, to Jennifer at least, possibly the most moral, upbeat member of their little family. Then again, Beth hadn't quite graduated into the ranks of the professional bloodsuckers that Jennifer had normally dealt with. When the dead began to walk Beth had been attending her final year of law school with a mountain of debt being handed to her alongside her degree in the spring. Jennifer almost giggled to herself as a thought occurred to her. Apparently even the end of the world had a silver lining: no more student loans.

_Then again, almost no more students, either. _Oh well.

"Ewww. Hey Riley, wanna trade?" Melissa held out her can of food out, imploring with her eyes for him to take the can. _Must be beans, _Jennifer thought to herself. It was well known among the group that Melissa hated that infernal food.

Jennifer passed Riley her survival knife and he plunged it into the lid of the can. The metal parted easily enough as he cut. "If it's something I don't like, sure." After a few seconds of careful cutting he peeled the lid off and threw it the ground. He looked at the can's contents, disgusted. "Yeah, sure." Jennifer gave the label a quick look. _Beans._

The two teenagers exchanged cans, each grateful to the other until they looked inside their newfound prizes. Both of them sighed, and muttered a subdued "Fuck" in unison as everyone else ate. The two began eating as well, though with less enthusiasm.

Sitting back, she mused about her companions. Melissa, like Riley, had been in High School when the dead began to walk. She seemed like one of those popular girls who liked to gossip, but she'd been okay for as long as Jennifer knew her. The only thing Jennifer didn't like was her long hair. She was asking for it to be grabbed by a walker if she didn't cut it.

"So..." Farley's voice sounded from his spot across from her, "I don't suppose any of you fine ladies and gentlemen... or Jennifer," he said, adding a sour note to his voice when he spoke her name, "have any smokes for a veteran? I served, you know."

"Yeah, as a Weekend Warrior," jabbed the gray haired man sitting off to Farley's left. Jennifer saw Conner, sitting to Farley's right, crack a rare smile as he soberly scooped the peaches out of the can he was holding. "My brother _actually_ served, you know. He was in Desert Storm."

"We know, Alex." Muttering to himself about the lack of tobacco Farley went back to his own tin that was now only half filled with green beans.

She shifted her eyes over to Alex. The man ravenously dug the spaghetti out of his can with a plastic spoon, getting a few bits of food stuck in his dirt flecked goatee. His red baseball cap sat on top of a head that was home to short brown hair that was going gray at the edges, with specks of dirt visible even from her position several feet away. Alex was a farmer, and his wife had been visiting relatives in Atlanta when everything began. His primary motivation for joining Beth, Bradley, and Melissa on the road in the first few weeks was to get to Atlanta. When the city had been revealed to be in ruins, he didn't have much reason to part with them, so he stayed. In his free time before the apocalypse he had spent a great deal of time hunting, and claimed that his living room was adorned with trophies. His tracking skills had certainly come in handy for finding wild animals to eat, though he still seemed to prefer canned goods as much as the rest of them did.

"Well, I'm beat," Tanner declared, stretching out tiredly. "Alex, you're on first watch. I'll get next shift, then Riley, Beth, and Melissa. Let's turn in, folks." Cans empty of food, the survivors complied, slipping into their tents, then into sleep, without a word.


	3. (3) Willard

A New Threat

"Well well well, what do we have here?"

"It's a well, Riley." Jennifer rolled her eyes.

"So I see," he replied. "What's the plan?"

Examining their surroundings, Jennifer considered their options. "I'll go out a way and patrol the woods around us to make sure we don't have walkers sneaking up on us. Riley, you and Alex can stay here and see if the water in that thing is any good," she said, gesturing to the well. "If it is, wait until I get back and we'll all run back to camp together to get the empty water bottles. Okay?"

"On one condition." Riley raised his eyebrows. "Do it."

Jennifer gave an exasperated sigh. "Riley, you are possibly the biggest nerd I have ever met. You know that?"

Behind them, Alex chuckled. The farmer was leaning against a tree with his arms crossed in front of his chest. "C'mon Jen, it's not like he'll ever get to see it again. Besides, it was a _classic._"

"I'll have you know that I do this under protest."

Alex just flashed a smile.

Sighing, she resigned herself to her fate. Widening her stance, she dropped her hand to her holster. Slowly, her fingers curled around the grip of her revolver and a look of determination crossed her face. In a flash, the revolver was held in her hands as she deepened her voice. "Dead or alive, you're coming with me," she bellowed, holding her pose for several seconds. Then, in a quick motion, she spun the weapon around her finger as she brought it back down to rest in her holster. Alex and Riley began to clap mockingly, and she took that as her cue to give an exaggerated bow.

"You could have been an actor, Jen," Alex said slyly.

Riley joined in. "Yeah, your performance brought tears to my eyes. Truly _inspiring. _Also copyrighted, even though I don't think the producers of _Robocop _are ever going to nag you about it."

"Just get to work you two."

"Now hold on a minute," Alex commanded, holding his arm out. "I'm the expert tracker here, so why ain't I going for a walkabout?"

"Because while you might be better at finding animals," Jen countered, "if anything really fucked up happens out there then I'm the best one to deal with it. You'll both be safer here. Besides," she added, "if I stay here, Riley might make me act out something from _Star Trek_. He'll probably make me do that 'Luke I'm your father,' part."

Exasperated, Riley stepped forward and began counting off on his fingers. "First, that's _Star Wars. _Second, I only wanted to see you do _RoboCop_ because you're a cop. Third, that's a misquote. The line actually goes 'No, _I_ am yo-"

Jennifer raised her hands in front of her as if to ward off a blow, falling to her knees in a joking surrender. "Alright, you got me," she pleaded. "How could a possibly get something as simple as that so wrong? Oh, woe is me, whatever shall I do to atone for my grievous sin? The only course is exile, into the deep woods while you two stay here and contemplate which of my limbs to hack off with a lightsword as penance for my errors."

Riley was silent as she came to the end of her rant. The two of them stared at each other until Riley counted off another finger. "Fourth, they're not lightswords, they're Lightsabers-"

"That's it, I've had enough!" She turned her back to them and stomped off into the woods, pausing only long enough to yell, "Find some water before I get back!" over her shoulder.

Once again smirking, Alex strolled over to the well. "She's right you know. You _are_ a huge geek."

"Admit it. You guys wouldn't have me any other way," he said. Without another word he began a careful sweep of their surroundings, eyes alert as his friend went to work. Alex spent several minutes at the well attempting to determine if there was any water as Riley covered him with his rifle. It was unnerving, in a sense, with the only noise coming from the wind whistling through the surrounding trees, with the occasional curse from Alex. Then again, Riley always felt this way when Jennifer left. She and Martin had saved his life in the early days, and nothing ever seemed to get to her. She was invincible. He owed them both everything.

A soft _fwip_disrupted the silence and broke through his thoughts. Rifle up, Riley visually searched for any threats. The noise hadn't been natural, that much he was certain of. It was difficult to get a decent line of sight with all the trees though, one of the drawbacks of being in a forest.

"Riley," Alex mumbled.

"Shhh, I think I heard something."

"No, Riley, I mean it," the farmer pleaded. "I just…" Riley heard him grunt in pain and turned to look.

"Alex… what..." An arrow was protruding from the older man's chest. A sleek wooden shaft with a white tail, it quivered from the force of the shot as the two of them stared at it, mouths agape. "I… we… Jennifer, help, uh…" Riley tried to step toward the injured survivor, but his legs wouldn't respond. He could barely move. It was almost as if his body had shut itself down. He was a statue.

Another _fwip _and a second arrow sprouted from Alex's body. He looked down at the two arrows, then back up at Riley, slack jawed, then fell backward almost peacefully. His descent ended with a deep _thud _as his back hit the forest. His body lay there, arms at its sides, almost as if it had been laid out for a funeral, or memorial service. Riley immediately felt the cold steel of a blade press up against his neck. In his ear, a deep voice whispered to him. "Don't start squirming boy. Lynch doesn't like it if I rough'em up before we get back to camp."

A second voiced echoed in response. "Willard, you're scaring him. Let's just go, he can't talk to Lynch if he's too scared. Have Lewis take him." A third voice, Lewis, agreed.

"Well how else are we supposed to interrogate him if he ain't scared, Josh? Say 'please?'" Willard grumbled. "Anyway, wasn't there another one around here somewhere?"

A loud _BANG _echoed through the trees. Willard spun around, bringing Riley with him, and Riley saw one of the bandits on the ground with a hole in his head. "Riley, RUN!" Jennifer fired again, taking Willard in the arm, but the large man stood firm. The surviving bandit fired at Jennifer, sending her scurrying behind a fallen tree with several well placed shots. Jennifer's hand came up firing her gun blindly in their direction, sending hot pieces of lead flying through the air at random.

The surviving bandit shouted to Willard, and Riley recognized his voice as Josh. "Get him out of here, I got you covered!" Josh resumed his assault on Jennifer's position as Willard dragged Riley further into the woods. The teenager bit into the behemoth's arm but he didn't flinch. Instead, he felt the point of the knife shift from his throat to the small of his back.

"Try that again kid," Willard hissed, "And you ain't ever gonna walk again." Frightened, Riley relaxed as his captor took him further away from the well and into the unknown. After a few minutes the gunfire stopped and Riley could only assume the worst.


	4. (4) Scars

Chapter 4

Unfriendly Faces

"Here he is, boss," Willard growled, throwing Riley to the dirt. Dazed, he look up. Looking down upon him were a man and a woman. The woman had short brown hair and a petite frame, but her unthreatening looks were offset by the stained, torn camouflage fatigues she was wearing. They reminded Riley of the uniforms Conner and Farley wore. Did that mean she was ex-military?

The man reached down and grabbed Riley by the drawstrings of his hoodie and pulled him up. The man was intimidating, with a rough face and gray hair marking the temples in an otherwise uniform head of black hair. His face was sharp but shaven, casting off an aura of dark, aristocratic sophistication aided by his pale blue eyes. "Where's Jack." It wasn't a question.

"W-who?" Riley stammered. The man sighed, looked down, and brought his fist up and into Riley's chin. The teenager's teeth made a loud _clack _in his mouth.

"I'll ask again," he said, voice low. "Where's Jack?"

"I don't even know who that is!"

"Well, your loss. Take him, Willard. See what he knows."

Willard's voice floated across the clearing with barely contained glee. "Can I use Charlene?"

"Knock yourself out big guy. Josh, I want you and Harold on perimeter duty for Willard. Me and Amy are taking everyone else out for some recon."

"Wait wait wait," Riley gasped, "You're not leaving me with this guy, are you?!"

"You made your choice kid. Now you'll have to live with it. If you can, I mean."

Willard was wearing a massive grin as he grabbed Riley again. "Let's go someplace private," the titan said, and for the second time that day began dragging Riley into the woods.

* * *

Riley's hands were bound behind his back. He sat in the middle of a small, run down campsite. The tents had been destroyed long ago, and the fire pit was half buried in debris. An overturned RV rested on its side about 30 feet away, windows smashed and the once stainless white exterior covered in grime. A skeleton hung halfway out the front windshield, thrown through the glass at the long past moment of impact.

Willard was pacing back and forth, snickering to himself as Riley's eyes tracked him. The big guy was clearly on the unstable side of the spectrum, but Riley kept his mouth shut. Willard came over to his frightened captive and plopped to the dirt next to him, concealing something behind his back. Riley didn't dare turn to catch a glimpse, afraid of angering the brute.

"What's your name, kid?"

"R-Riley."

"Ah. Good name. I like it. I'm Willard," he said, extending his hand, "And you and me are about to become close friends." He looked expectantly at Riley, then to his outstretched hand. Riley shrugged, moving his bound hands behind him. Willard realized his mistake, and took his hand back. "Sorry about that. I forgot. I tend to forget things once in a while, you know?" Riley nodded, simply for the sake of agreeing.

"You like comic books, Riley?"

"I'm more of a… video game guy…"

Willard's expression dropped in disappointment. "Oh. Well, everyone has their own thing I guess. Me, I like gambling, and thanks to you I owe Harold the next pack of cigarettes I find. Thanks for that." He put his hand to his forehead as he realized he was going off track, then returned to the subject. "That part ain't important, anyway. I like booze, hunting too, but most of all…" His grin returned, bigger than before as he unveiled the object behind his back and stood up.

In his hand he held a machete. "This is Charlene. She's got a black carbon blade, 22 inches from hilt to tip and sharpened with my own personal tools. A synthetic handle guaranteed to never wear come rain, sleet, snow, or the end of the world. I can crack a head open in four whacks with the handle." Recoiling, Riley tried to stand but ended up falling over. Willard hauled him up by his hoodie, _tsking _all the while.

"Get that thing away from me! I'm just a fucking kid!"

Ignoring him, Willard continued on what was surely a memorized speech. "Blade like this takes some fine control. If I slip up, you might lose an ear, your nose, maybe even your jaw if I'm in the middle of my finisher. Happened to a guy once, and after that he didn't feel much like talking so Charlene and I had to finish up early that day." He sighed longingly to himself. "Memories. Lucky for you, I'm a professional. Practice makes perfect, as they say, and I've had my fair share of practice."

He rested the tip of the blade on Riley's forehead but didn't pierce flesh. "You'll talk, kid. They all do. Lynch'll get the info he wants, and I'll stop once he gets back and asks for it. But I ain't doing this for information. The truth is, Riley, I'm doing this just because I like cuttin' on folks. Me and Charlene. It's a hobby, kind of. I've always found cuttin' to be an interesting thing. It's a sort of… transformation. Of the flesh, of the mind, a good blade can change just about _anything_if it's applied correctly." He looked from the blade to Riley. "If there's somethin' you wanna say before we start, say it. After a few minutes, most folks can't do much but scream."

Riley was beginning to break up, but tried to hold it back. "P-please. I never did anything to you. I'm just a kid…"

Once again, Willard paid him no mind. "Riley, you like that woman? The lady with the six gun that shot my buddy Lewis? I mean really like her, like you _want _her, know what I mean?"

Hyperventilating, the teenager was nearly incoherent. "Y-yeah… sure…" _J__ust tell him what he wants to hear._

"Good, that's good." He squatted next to Riley again and put a slight pressure on the blade. A droplet of blood traced its way down Riley's forehead. "I'm gonna let you in on a secret, Riley. Wanna know what it is?"

"I'll do anything… just let me go, and you'll never see me again, I promise."

Willard's unbridled joy turned into a sinister gaze as he locked eyes with Riley, and softly muttered the secret to the young man.

"Women love scars."

Riley screamed and tried to pull away again, but Willard grabbed him and forced him face first to the ground. He turned the boy over so he was lying on his back, and once again rested Charlene on the petrified kid's face. "Let's turn you into a ladies' man, Riley."

* * *

"We'll, that should do it. I think we're done here." Willard was talking more to himself than Riley. The teenager was laying on huge ground, unconscious, as Willard slung him over his shoulder like a sack of flour and began carrying him back to Lynch. Josh, still on perimeter duty, jogged up to the man.

Josh took a single look at Riley and forced himself to keep from gagging. He looked away almost immediately. "You're fucking sick, Willard." Willard ignored him.

"I got what Lynch wanted me to get out of him. Turns out that we've finally caught up with our old friend Jack, and this kid knew exactly where to find him. Get Harold so we can go back and get ready for our little reunion. Lynch said we'd do it tomorrow if the kid talked."

"How can you justify _any _of that?" Josh asked, pointing at the unconscious teenager.

"I don't do this because I think it's _right,_" Willard smirked, "I know who I am, Josh, and I'm someone who does this because it's _fun." _As Willard pulled ahead of him, Josh began to think that maybe following Jack's example wouldn't have been such a bad idea after all.


	5. (5-1) Murphy's Law

Conner felt like vomiting as he set the binoculars down. It went against all of his training but he almost didn't care. Any man who made his mark like _that_ deserved to die. Farley took up the binoculars, and after a few moments gagged and set them back down.

"Jesus Christ. I never liked the kid, but God damn…" The others were scattered around the trees, sighting on the group of bandits that occupied the clearing before them. Outnumbered by a t least two to one, Conner took some small comfort in having the element of surprise. Well, that and his trusty M4. From the group of bandits, a voice rang out.

"We know you're out there, Jack. Remember me? It's your old buddy Lynch. We've come to take you home, friend." In Lynch's hand, he held a pistol. He chambered a round so that the sound would carry through the cool morning air, letting the group know his intentions. He lowered the pistol until it was resting against the back of Riley's head. The teenager was kneeling in front of the man, facing out into the trees. "Come on out, or the kid dies! He already told us everything, so there's no point to the little back and forth we'll have if you try to take him back. Surrender peacefully, and your friends can leave. The kid included."

* * *

Lynch whispered downward as Riley tried to stop shaking. "Don't worry kid, I'm not killing you unless anyone makes me. You told Willard what we wanted to know almost right away. I'd say you earned a chance at life. After Jack and your friends are dealt with, we'll set you loose with a few cans of food and say our goodbyes."

_They killed Alex._ He couldn't stop seeing the kind hearted man, arrows protruding from his chest as he fell over in slow motion, thudding to the forest floor with arms at his sides. For however long he lived he knew he would always be back there in huge small clearing, next to the well as Alex fell.

_What happened to me?_ For the hundredth time in the last few hours, Riley brought his hands up to his ruined face and felt the damage. _What did he do? How could…_ The pain had lowered to a dull throbbing since his little "session" with Willard, but he still couldn't see out of his right eye. Maybe he never would again. He wasn't even entirely sure it was still there. _What kind of people would do this?_

Then he had another thought. _They'll kill them all. Jennifer... Not again. I don't want to get her killed. I can't go through that again. _He struggled against his bonds but Lynch prodded him in the back with his foot and put more pressure behind the gun.

_It's happening again. I fucked up and someone else has to pay..._

* * *

"I'm going out." Jennifer stood, but Conner grabbed her arm as Farley snapped at her. "He wants this Jack person. I still find it hard to believe myself, but you are not _a man._ He might kill Riley if we don't send out who he wants."

She freed her arm from Conner's grasp and stepped away. "The difference between us, Farley, is that I'm not afraid to put my life on the line for my friends. I don't cut them loose when it's convenient." Conner grabbed at her again but she dashed away and began making her way into the clearing.

"You know what, Conner? Fuck her. If she wants to get that nerd killed, I say she's more than welcome to."

From a few yards away, they heard her voice as she stepped into full view of the hostile group. "Riley…?"

* * *

She wanted to throw up. She wanted to draw her gun and shoot them all dead. She wanted to charge them with her bare hands, tear them apart, rip them into pieces, and throw what was left to the walkers. Most of all, she wanted to end it for him.

For the first time she saw what little remained of Riley's face. As the teenager looked at her with one eye, the only one he still had, she could see the pain in his gaze. Deep scars crisscrossed the destroyed flesh, cut into patterns in a monstrous display, an unholy etching of pain and suffering Blood stained his hoodie all the way down to the waist. His face was almost entirely scar tissue now, recently inflicted and still fresh. He looked less like a human being and more like a walker, but she knew he was still alive. From so far away, she could still see the life in his eye instead of the dull, cloudy blanket of undeath.

It made her sick. She went for her gun, murder on her face, but she never got the chance.

* * *

He was hyperventilating again. Lynch grabbed his hair and hissed at him. "Chill, kid. It'll all be A-Okay once this is 'sorted out'." Jennifer was standing there, far away, but he could still see the expression of horror displayed on her face.

_They'll kill her. They'll kill everyone._ He had to warn them. But how? There was a gun to the back of his head. He was panicking even more now as the anxiety gripped him and refused to let go.

Then Jennifer went for her gun. Riley wouldn't be responsible for her too. He had too much on his conscience as it was. He didn't think, he just reacted.

"JEN! IT'S A TRA-"

_BLAM!_


	6. (5-2) Murphy's Law 2

Chapter 5

Murphy's Law, Part 2

"Sonnuvabitch!" Lynch cried as Riley's corpse fell forward, spewing blood from the hole in his head as the last wisps of smoke drifted off the barrel of Lynch's gun. "That fucker got blood all over my good pants!" Around the bandit leader, his men were diving for cover as the woman just inside the clearing screamed and, gun in hand, leaped back into the bushes.

* * *

"RILEY!" Jennifer saw the young man's corpse hit the ground in slow motion. Her weapon finally cleared the leather of her holster, but she was far too late. She dove backward as a bullet sliced through the air just beside her head, landing on her back within the concealment of the underbrush. Then the entire forest exploded in a thunderous concert of gunfire.

* * *

Conner sighted in on one of the bandits and squeezed the trigger. His target, a woman in camouflage fatigues not unlike his own, ducked to the ground. She rose slightly and returned fire, forcing him to the ground with an accurate rifle round. Combatants on both sides began to add their own weapons to the mix, and in seconds dozens firearms were going off simultaneously. Conner made himself as small as possible on the forest floor, getting as close to the dirt as he could while incoming fire shredded the foliage all around him.

"Conner, we're getting out of here!" It was Tanner, screaming to be heard over the firefight. "Lynch doesn't fuck around! They'll kill us all if we stay!" Farley crawled over with bits of shredded leaves stuck in his beard. He rose, squeezed off a few rounds, and then dropped back down as a hail of lead arced over him.

"I'm staying." Conner didn't know why he'd said it. He just did. Something deep inside of him told him that he needed to stay behind. It was important. "There's too many of them shooting up the area. If someone doesn't stay back and cover the rest, none of us make it out." A bullet smacked into the tree next to Tanner's head, causing him to duck. Conner didn't even acknowledge it.

Without protest Tanner scurried back into the brush to gather the others. The bandits were beginning to advance toward their position now. Farley pulled his friend close as the battle raged. "Are you fucking nuts? Anyone who stays here _will_ die." Conner stood up and let loose a burst from his M4. One of the bandits flew backward, shoulder exploding as hot lead punched through the flesh and bone, and came to rest on the ground as waves of pain shot through him. Conner acquired another target, but Farley tugged on his leg causing him to fall back down. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?!"

No reply. Conner simply stood again, fired, then ducked. "Can you even hear me? Conner?"

"Best get out now. Once they enter the trees anyone still here is going to be easy pickings."

Mouth agape, Farley hissed out a curse. "Fine. Stay here and get yourself killed. I don't fucking care." Conner didn't even turn to him. "Seriously? Conner, do you know everything I've done, I've done to keep you alive? Lucy told me to look out for you. Are you really going to throw your life away like this? She's your sister. We should be out there finding her, not getting our asses blown off in some forest. That was always the plan after Atlanta, we'd find Lucy. Listen to me, damnit!"

For a moment Conner stopped, considering his actions. Cool despair hit him, creasing his face with a faint, but determined frown. "I told you to leave. This is it for me, and I'm okay with that. Find her on your own."

"You're giving up on her so you can fulfill some stupid death wish?"

"Last chance. They're almost on top of us."

"Fine. I've done everything I can. You're on your own." Turning, he hefted his rifle up and disappeared into the leaves. The shouts of the bandits were right on top of him now.

"Spread out!"

"Shoot anything that moves!"

"I see one!" A burst from an automatic weapon followed. It was directed behind Conner's position, toward the trail Farley had used to make his escape. They heard the leader, Lynch, shout at his subordinates to give chase, and a dozen bandits ran by with weapons raised. Branches and twigs snapped and leaves were crushed underfoot as the massive group stormed by. In their haste, the whole of the group passed by Conner's position with little more than a glance in his direction.

Conner stood and tapped the trigger of his weapon in rapid succession, sending out his remaining rounds one at a time, but at a rate that almost seemed supernatural. He was rewarded with the sight of one of them falling down, bleeding, and a shout of pain. Their leader, Lynch, barked more commands.

"Josh, take everyone by you and chase after the guy Harold saw!" _Farley,_ Conner thought to himself as the satisfying _click_ of a new magazine locking snugly into place reached his ears. "It might be Jack! The rest of you, take out the bastards behind us!"

The first bandit to step close enough was a short man. Sporting a pair of sunglasses and a bandana, he turned just in time to see Conner's weapon leveled at him. With a _BANG_ he crumpled to the ground in pain, wheezing out the last of his life in the dirt. A second bandit sprinted to help the first, putting him in Conner's sights. Casually, the former Guardsman settled the crosshair in his holographic sight on the man's chest. His finger tensed on the trigger, preparing to do his duty.

But instead of shooting the man, he whistled. It was a sharp, high pitched noise that startled the bandit and caused him to visibly jump. Taken by surprise, he spun around, finally seeing Conner. His rifle, however, was pointed downward. The bandit began to raise his weapon, but both men knew who had the upper hand. Conner could see it in his prey's eyes, the certainty of death intermixed with the faint, but irrelevant hope of life as he pulled back on the trigger to send one clean round through the man's head.

The M4 thundered out rapid fire death. Conner's victim was practically lifted off the ground by the force of the barrage as the fully automatic river of lead tore his body asunder. The twitching mass of flesh that had once been a man finally settled against the trunk of a tree as a feeling of wrongness and subdued horror flooded Conner. Something was definitely _wrong_ with what had just happened and his mind was swamped by thoughts as he tried to discover the source of his discomfort.

_I hesitated when he was in my sights._ That was part of it.

_Why did I whistle? _

_When did I put my M4 on full auto? I don't remember doing that._

Before the answers revealed themselves, a bone shattering force slammed into the back of his head. Conner's last thought before the ground met his face was the strangest of all.

_Why do I feel so good?_


	7. (6) Diminished

Chapter 6

The Fortress

_134 Days In_

"_Well, that's the last of the grenades," Farley sighed. "I think they drew more walkers to us than they killed. The barren rooftop was swiftly shaping up to be their tomb as mobs of walkers bustled in the streets below. Trapped on top of the building, there was no obvious way out._

"_Hang on. I think I have an idea." Bradley walked up to Farley, limping with his sprained ankle. "If we can distract them, maybe draw them over this way, we can get down the fire escape on the other side of the building." Before he could say anymore, the door to the roof began to shake, as the walkers within the building finally reached them. Cracks formed as the door splintered, coming apart under the force of their merciless assault._

"_Everyone get ready!" Tanner yelled, as the rest of the group checked their weapons. Their truck was below in the streets, and a thousand walkers were between them and it. The fire escape wasn't an option with no way to draw the dead away from it. This was a last stand in its most basic form._

* * *

"Just breathe, Beth, come on," the young woman said to herself. Beside her, Melissa and Tanner were panting as well. At this point she doubted that they could run any further even if the killers in pursuit had been hiding in the bushes beside them.

"Holy crap," Tanner managed. Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground and rested against a tree. He pulled his rifle to him and laid it across his lap as he drew in deep, desperate breaths.

Melissa was the first to notice their diminished numbers. "Where did everyone else go?" She looked around, confused.

Still struggling for breath, Tanner answered her. "Those bastards already killed Alex, Riley, and Conner. I don't know where the hell Jennifer and Farley are, but we need to get out of here now. Lynch will chase us all the way to California if we don't lose him now."

"Wait," Beth commanded as worry crept into her voice. "Conner's dead? What happened?"

Tanner looked away from her. "He stayed behind to hold them off. If he hadn't done that, we might not have made it out." Their leader sighed. "Lynch doesn't take prisoners. Even if—and I'm stressing the 'if' here—Conner is alive, Lynch will throw him to Willard and he'll wish he was dead."

Tanner began to rise, but Melissa stepped in front of him, suspicious. "Willard? Who's that?"

Tanner didn't meet her inquisitive glare. "If we don't leave, they'll kill us. These are bad people, _evil_ people."

He tried to get past her, but the teenager put a hand on his chest and shoved him back to the tree. "I want to know who this 'Willard' guy is."

Tanner's eyes became wide as he fidgeted, unable to meet her eyes. "Uh... I dunno, I think I just heard one of them shout a name... or something..."

Beth came up beside her, and drew her pistol in a not so subtle motion. She let it hang at her side for the moment. "Tanner, how do you _know_ this? And why are they looking for this 'Jack' person?"

"I can tell you later, but if we don't leave _now_ we'll all-"

Beth flipped the safety of her pistol off and shoved Tanner back against the tree. She pushed the barrel of her weapon up underneath the man's chin and held it there. "Now I'll ask you again. _How_ do you know?"

Tanner's voice was hoarse with fear. "Just put the gun away. Do you think I'm working with them? I'm not," he pleaded.

Out of nowhere, Melissa slapped him. The _smack_ was loud, almost like a gunshot with the tension in the air. The blow left a visible red mark on his face, but if he was hurt he didn't let them see it. "You want to know? Fine. I'll spill everything once we get back to the camp. Jen and Farley might be there, and I don't want to have to tell this story twice."

Bringing the gun back, Beth gently placed Tanner in front of her and Melissa. "You can go first, _Jack_," she said, pressing the barrel of her gun into his back.

Slowly raising his hands above his head, he began to walk. "Figured that part out already, huh?"

"Just shut up and walk."

* * *

_I feel like I got shot in the head. Is this what being dead feels like?_ Slowly shaking his head back and forth, Conner tried to get his bearings and found that he wasn't lucky enough to have died. Shakily, he attempted to rise, but only made it halfway to his knees. Almost instantly, he felt himself pushed back to the ground. "Boss, he's still alive." Conner recognized the voice from the battle. It was one of the bandits.

"Huh." From his position on the ground, Conner couldn't see more than a sleek pair of combat boots come into his line of sight. A new voice responded to the bandit, and it filled his heart with hatred as he recognized it. It was the fucker who shot Riley. "You ain't Jack." The boots kicked dirt in face, getting it into his eyes. They burned as the bandit leader, Lynch, commanded his men.

"Willard, Amy, we're going back to The Fort. Carry this asshole, will you? When we get there, take him out to shed and see what he knows. But don't rough him up too bad. Our new… _recruit…" _The leader paused, stressing that word, "Needs an _initiation._ Don't hurt him that bad. Our new friend has to do this on their own."

"But Lynch, I-"

"You got to go to town on that kid we caught yesterday. Our newest member needs to prove that they're cut out for being a member of our group. Keep them away from the prisoner until it's time." The boots strode confidently out of his line of sight. "If this guy doesn't cooperate after that," he said, kicking more dirt on Conner's face, "we'll throw him in the barn. It's been a while since we've been able to do that."

Sighing, Willard agreed. "Alright boss." The booted foot collided with the side of Conner's head, sending stars across his vision and sending him back sleep.


	8. (7) Reunion

Conner's vision slowly came back, and he was once more able to take in his surroundings. The shed was fair sized, giving him enough room for someone to move around somewhat freely if they needed to. Against a wall was a workbench with a single working lamp that was all that kept the darkness outside from swallowing them. And everywhere there was blood. It coated the floor and much of the walls, and he saw flecks of it on the ceiling as well. Earlier, hours or minutes he couldn't be certain, he had seen a few loose teeth lying in a corner. A pile of boards lay at the back of the shed, old and rotting through with age and wear. A deep voice pierced his thoughts as the world slowly realigned.

"I asked you where Jack is."

"Fuck you."

"Wrong answer, Rambo." Willard slammed Conner's face into the wall once again. The wood creaked and groaned under the force. The torturer pulled his victim back, the face coming away with several splinters embedded in it. "All we want is Jack. Why won't you give him up?"

"Because I don't know anybody named Jack," Conner blurted. Willard's fist connected with the side of Conner's head, sending him sprawling over the pile of lumber.

"We saw him with you. Your buddy was talking to him while you and that bitch that shot Lewis were rooting around inside that garage a couple of days ago." _The National Guard outpost, _he realized. Attempting to stand, Willard forced him to his knees. "You know the buddy we're talking about, right? He wears the uniform, same as you. Farley, right?"

"The man Farley was talking to isn't named Jack. He's-"

"Tanner. Yeah yeah yeah, that kid in the hoodie dropped his name during our little session." Willard brought his booted foot down on Conner's back, and the former serviceman was on the ground once again. "You're lucky, you know that?" Conner merely grunted. Willard was increasing the pressure on his back, pressing him harder against the ground. It was growing harder to draw breath, let alone speak.

"Yeah, the boss said I had to wait. You ain't mine to 'entertain' as they put it." Suddenly, he lifted his foot, giving Conner enough time to scramble up and backward. "If this was a normal situation, me and Charlene would already be hard at work," he said, pointing to the machete lying on the workbench. "She's a real beaut, she is." He grabbed Conner's hair and gave a good pull. "I was thinking about maybe taking your hair. You know, like the Indians you see in them old western movies. 'Scalping' they call it." He sighed to himself, dejected. "'Cept all I get now is this cap," he said, inclining his head downward to give Conner a good look at Alex's stolen hat. "Maybe next time. Oh well."

A loud series of raps sounded from the outside. "That must be the new blood," Willard pondered aloud. He looked back at Conner. "I think you two knew each other at some point. I'm sure it'll be a touching reunion. Hell, I'm tearing up already." Hesitantly, he opened the door and extended his arm out, handing Charlene to the unseen bandit recruit.

"Now don't hurt her none," he commanded. "Charlene's a special lady and she deserves to be treated right."

"Whatever. Let's just get this over with," a familiar voice barked. _Holy shit. It can't be…_

"No…" Conner breathed to himself. "Please no…"

Through the door stepped a battered man with Charlene in hand. Sporting a worn camouflage uniform with "National Guard" sewn into the breast, a familiar face adorned by brown hair and a dirty beard followed it. The cold blue eyes widened in surprise and his hand squeezed tight around the machete's grip until his knuckles were white as bone. "Conner? What…"

"Farley?" He couldn't believe it. Nothing made sense anymore, this couldn't be right. It had to be some sort of dream, or a nightmare. _None of this is real,_ he told himself as Farley hesitantly crept toward him. "Wh-what are you-"

Without a word Farley grabbed Conner's left hand and slammed it down on the workbench. Conner attempted to free himself, but Farley brought the hilt of the machete down on his friend's head, dazing him. "Why…" Conner croaked meekly as Farley positioned the blade.

"Shut up!" he commanded. "Unless you're answer _our _questions, you're staying silent." Farley's dagger-like glower was unlike anything Farley had seen as his friend began to shout, uncontrolled anger coating his words.

"After everything I did for you, you tried to get yourself killed back in that clearing! What the hell is wrong with you?!" Conner was still in shock as Farley continued. "For months, fucking _months_, I stayed with the assholes in our group for _you._ All of the nasty shit I've done, the things that keep me up at night and make me want to put a bullet through my skull because of how horrible and wrong they were, I did those things for you. To keep you alive and to keep you from having to deal with what acts like that do to someone's head because you were my _friend!"_ Seething, Farley grabbed Conner by the neck as his friend choked out a single word.

"Bullshit."

Then he snapped. Farley threw Conner to the ground and the captive man backed away as far as he could as Farley's rant continued. "Fuck you! I stayed in a group that I couldn't stand, surrounded by people I hated for MONTHS! If I had my way, we would have ditched those guys the day after Beth took us to them. I killed people for you, man! I wanted to go find Lucy, my fiance and your sister, but when you said you wanted to stay I knew I had to just to keep you from going insane like you did outside of Atlanta! She made me promise, you know. To look out for you. Before the walkers, before we even graduated from High School, she told me to look out for you."

"What?"

"That's right. Lucy was worried about you, like she always was. I was too, which is why I agreed. I got beaten up in school keeping that promise. I wanted to go to college and get a degree before I joined up, so I could become an officer, but you wanted to join up straight away so I went with you. Then when you didn't make the grade for the Marines, guess what? _I did._ But I gave it up anyway just so we could stay together when we joined the Army, but guess what happened then? You didn't cut it then either, so I was forced to decline that too! I ended up as a fucking Weekend Warrior. Then I gave up any chance I had of ever finding my future wife again, of ever being happy again, for you! And you repay me by trying to get yourself killed."

Lying there, Conner was stunned. Was Farley telling the truth? He hadn't heard of any of this before. Why would Lucy have to ask Farley to watch out for him? "I-I didn't know..."

"No, you didn't. You didn't know that I gave up my entire future for a headcase like _you_. Enough shitting around, Conner. You have _one_ chance to tell me everything about our group and their camp before this gets violent."

"You bastard." Conner's own anger was beginning to rise. "You sold us out, didn't you?"

"They captured me at the clearing after you decided to be John Wayne, so yeah, I told them everything when they put a gun to my head."

"Even if everything you just said was true," Conner growled, "You're a traitor. I'm not giving my friends up."

Without warning Conner's hand was forced onto the workbench again. Farley held it there with his left hand while he positioned Charlene with his right. "You're not my friend anymore, Conner, and what's about to happen is your fault." Then a lightning bolt of pain shot up through Conner's hand, continuing along his arm and into the rest of him as Farley struck and Conner let loose a massive scream.


	9. (8) Broken Bonds

_The door finally fell off its hinges and the dead began spilling onto the roof. Tanner shouted the order and the group opened fire. Bradley was near the edge of the roof, using the edge to support himself in place of his sprained ankle._

_Below, the noise drew the attention of the dead. They clamored for their food, trapped on the roof. And the survivors had only so many bullets._

_The horde on the roof drew close. One knocked the rifle out of Melissa's grip, while a second, crawling, wrapped its hand around Alex's ankle. A swift kick scattered its brains all over the cement, but the gap it left in the horde was quickly filled. They were being pushed back._

_Farley looked at the advancing corpses. Then at Bradley. Bradley would never make it with his injury. And there were so many below that using the fire escape wasn't an option at the moment. He felt his guts tie themselves into a knot as he realized what he had to do, and dashed to the injured man at the edge of the roof._

* * *

"AAAUUUUUUUGGGGHHH, FUCK!"

"You did this Conner, not me!" Farley's boot slammed into Conner's side, once again sending Conner to the floor. The pain in his side barely registered as he gripped his left wrist. Farley grabbed the back of his friend's uniform and lifted him back up. Once more he forced Conner's left hand to the table and smashed the back of the man's hand with the machete.

"Tell us! Tell us or I'll take another!"

"SCREW YOU!"

Farley angled Charlene into position again. With a wet, gut wrenching _snik_ Conner's ring finger was separated from his hand. The small stump began spitting blood as the now defunct digit rolled off the workbench and onto the floor, joining his left-middle finger at the foot of the workbench. Willard was giggling madly in the background as pain encompassed Conner's entire being.

"JESUS CHRIST, STOP IT!" Farley slammed Conner's head into the workbench and held his mutilated hand in front of his face, forcing Conner to see the two stumps of what had once been his fingers.

"Tell us what we asked for. Show me that you're willing to cooperate for once!" Conner's anguished screams cut off any reply he might have had. He thrashed about with his free hand, but Willard forced it behind his back and twisted it. "Just tell us! Then the pain will stop, it'll all stop."

"NO!"

"Willard, his other hand." The big man whacked Conner over his head, stunning him. Farley grabbed Conner's right hand and positioned it while Willard twisted the left one around behind him. "Last chance."

Tasting copper in his mouth, Conner spit blood onto Farley's dirty combat boots. For the third time, Charlene sliced through one of Conner's fingers, completely severing it. His right-hand ring finger joined the other two, casualties in a senseless struggle of wills. Before it rolled to the floor, Farley snatched it up and held it in front of Conner's bloodshot eyes. "I'll take them all, Conner. I threw away my life because of you, don't test me!"

"I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL ALL OF YOU, YOU FUCKING MONSTERS!" Letting go, Farley watched Conner curl up on the floor while the stumps of his fingers continued to squirt blood, painting the floorboards beneath him a deep rusty red. Willard kicked him in the gut, causing Conner to wheeze as the air was knocked out of him. He tried to scream again as Willard stepped on his left hand with Farley struggling to not be sick as his friend's eyes rolled back in his head and he lost consciousness.

Willard put an arm around Farley's shoulder with an almost brotherly sense of pride. "He didn't talk, but I'd say you earned your place in the pack, amigo. C'mon, let's leave him here. We'll let him rot 'til morning, then we take him to the barn and introduce him to the other tough guys who decided not to talk. Sound good?"

Farley brushed the other man's hand away as they strolled out, trying not to vomit and shutting the door behind them. Conner's parting words put a chill in him, a cold that he tried to ignore as a subtle shaking began to take him. Detaching himself from Willard, Farley wandered off, passing the house in the middle of the compound, the command post of this small, walled off slice of Hell he was now supposed to call home. Sick with himself, he offered a tiny, desperate prayer upwards for a pack of cigarettes to ease his inner shivering as he left the shed, and Conner, behind him.

But Conner wasn't the only one they left behind. There, in the lamp's cone of light, lying on the workbench, was Charlene.

Conner began to stir.


	10. (9) The Things That We've Done

"_What the fuck are you doing, man?!" Bradley struggled to free himself, but Farley had a solid hold on the man's coat. Farley pushed, holding Bradley's upper body over the edge. "Help! He's gonna kill me!"_

_From behind him, Tanner was yelling. "Farley, what the hell?! Get back here and help us, we're about to be overrun!" Farley pretended not hear. In a fit of desperation, Bradley sunk his teeth into the soldier's hand hard enough to draw blood. Farley remained strong, pushing him further into the air._

"_Please don't! I thought we were friends!"_

"_I'm sorry Brad, but I gotta do this." With a final, massive push, Farley sent Bradley completely over the edge. As the man fell, he let out a desperate, continuous scream that trailed off the closer he got to the ground. Within seconds, Bradley had completed his express journey to the street below. The horde sensed food that was within reach, and hundreds of walkers began to drag themselves toward the nearly unrecognizable remains that had just landed in their midst, oblivious to the battle raging above._

_Beth's scream momentarily drowned out the moans of the dead. "WHAT THE FUCK! YOU MURDERED HIM!"_

_Pushing her aside, Farley grabbed Conner's sleeve and made a break for the fire escape, towing his friend along with him. "Cram it, sister! They're distracted right now, so if we haul ass we can reach the truck." The walkers on the roof continued to close in, spurring the others into action. As swiftly as they could they followed Farley down the fire escape, with a clear path to their vehicle. _

* * *

"Hey man," a voice greeted, startling Farley out of his thoughts. "What are you doing out here? Lynch doesn't like it when people screw around near the barn."

"Whatever." Legs stretched out in front of him, Farley barely bothered to glance at the man. His back was against the wall of the barn, just to the left of the padlocked doors and the ladder leaning up against them and leading into the loft above, providing an entrance from the second story. It was just another barn on another farm in a world full of them.

The man persisted, extending a hand toward him. "Seriously man, Lynch doesn't want anyone but guards around the barn. Come with me."

"I refer you to my previous statement," Farley dismissed. "Just give me a smoke or get out of here."

"Actually…" For the first time Farley looked up at the man standing above him. Another one of Lynch's bandits, obviously, but there was something different about this one. Farley didn't feel that same overhanging savagery as he did around Willard, or the cold and detached ruthlessness of Amy and Lynch. This guy was different. "Here you go." Farley snatched the cigarette from the man's hand almost immediately and brought it to his mouth in an unsteady hand. The man took out his lighter and flicked it on, giving Farley his badly needed light.

"Thanks," Farley said as he gave a deep drag. The shaking in his hands subsided but he had a feeling it would be back. "You would be…?"

"Josh," the man answered. "So what's up?"

Farley inhaled again and pointed upward. "The stars."

"Cute. Seriously, tell me what's wrong."

"What do you care?"

"That was my last cigarette."

"Oh." Giving a thoughtful pause, Farley decided to give in and get something off of his chest. "I just… well, I'm sure you heard all that screaming, right?" Josh nodded.

"That was me and Willard in the shed. We were trying to get some answers from someone. The guy used to be my friend." Expecting an interruption Farley paused, but Josh continued to stare. "Things, well," Farley continued, "they didn't go so great in there."

"In the torture shed? The hell you say." Farley's look of contempt was sudden. Josh held up his hands apologetically. "Sorry, sometimes I can't help myself."

"Whatever." Taking a deep breath, he went on. "Things were pretty complicated between us even before the world went to hell. I was always watching out for him, and sometimes it was difficult."

"Why were you looking out for him?"

"His sister asked me to, and he was already my friend. And-" Farley stopped in mid sentence. "I… uh… I can't really seem to find the words here."

"It's alright, just do your best."

The uncertainty in Farley's voice was almost physical, and he hesitated before speaking up again. "I really don't know how to put this, but Conner, um, well, he's always...uh…"

"Was he… different?" Josh ventured.

"That's about as close as I think we'll get. He's always had some… I can't think of the words again. Embarrassing, right?" Farley wracked his brain for the proper terminology as he smoked. "Well, the words that come to mind are "anger issues", but even that's not quite right. It goes a little beyond that, but I sti-"

A banging noise from inside the barn startled Farley and he was on his feet in the span of second, hand reflexively shooting down toward the pistol holstered on his hip. He had just unclasped the the holster when Josh tugged his arm away from the weapon. Something pushed the doors out from the inside, but they were stopped by the lock. The noises became more furious and concentrated as the inhabitants of the barn were denied their freedom.

"Josh," Farley said with measured words, "what the fuck is that?" Several sets of scratching noises were now weaving their way through the gap between the locked doors. It was a familiar sound. Almost as familiar as the deathly moan that assaulted his hearing.

Josh began to lead Farley away by his arm and toward the central house. "I think I need to explain something to you. Just try to keep an open mind, okay?"

"I'll keep it open as long as those doors stay closed."


	11. (10) A Dark Turn

_The camp was anything but quiet once they returned. "YOU KILLER!" Jen's punch sent Farley to the ground. Tanner and Alex restrained her before she could attack again. Farley, rubbing away the pain in his jaw, stood up. _

_"I did what I had to. We'd all be dead if it wasn't for me, so fuck off before I get angry, okay?"_

_Riley stepped forward, uncharacteristic firmness in his voice. "Farley, you threw him off of a damn roof!"_

_"To save our lives. That includes yours and your girlfriend's, okay?"_

_"No," the teenager said. "I think it just includes yours."_

_"Fuck this, I've had it with all of you. Conner, we're out of here."_

_"I'm staying." Farley's injured jaw slacked open in surprise._

_"You're what?" _

_Conner looked away. "Farley, you _killed _him. He was a good guy. He was one of us."_

_"Conner, we were being overrun! Bradley was injured, he wasn't going to live anyway! There was no way he could have gotten away fast enough even if we'd had an opening."_

_"I'm sorry Farley, but how can you justify killing someone like that? This isn't the first time, either."_

_Jen fought her way out of the heavy hands of Tanner and Alex and came to stand next to Conner. "What do you mean 'first time?'" Her glare was almost demonic in its seething hatred as she asked the question._

_"During the first week, back in Macon, we were being extracted from-"_

_Betrayed, Farley stepped backward. The look of dismay on his face said it all, but he spoke anyway. "How many times do I have to say it Conner? Hanson wasn't showing up. Kelley was going to get us killed waiting for him."_

_"That's not the point, Farley," Conner said, sidestepping the old argument. "The point is that you've left people behind before. Good people. I don't know you anymore."_

_Farley's eyes changed. They didn't move, they didn't turn a different color, but there was something off about them. Something inside him had shifted and the thousand yard stare he was showing to Conner wasn't anything like the good-natured, friendly, and humorous looks he used to have. This one was a shield, and behind it lay a well concealed, festering contempt._

_"You know what? Fine. We'll fucking stay." Farley glanced at Jennifer as she opened her mouth to say something. "Don't say a goddamn word," he menaced._

_Wisely, she stayed silent._

* * *

**Present Day, The Shed**

Everything hurt. It felt like a railroad spike was lodged in his head and his hands were cast in a mould of pain. He couldn't stop shaking and it was difficult to breathe normally. The world was spinning around him, throwing him off balance when he tried to stand. He slipped, but managed to catch himself on the workbench before he hit the floor.

_Gotta find something, anything. Gotta get out. Can't stay._ Coherent thoughts were difficult to form, let alone audible sentences. He was cold, and in the light of the lamp he could see how pale his arms were. The stumps of his fingers had stopped bleeding for the moment, but his uniform was still damp with blood. Using the workbench to support himself, he frantically searched around for a weapon.

Then he felt it. The unmistakable hard steel of a blade. Gingerly, be brushed the remaining fingers of his right hand along its length until the blade ended and met the hilt. Groping, he managed to wrap his fingers around the synthetic handle on the third attempt.

_I've got a weapon. The machete. Now I need to leave._ He spied the old door, faintly illuminated by the lamp. _I wonder if they locked it…_

* * *

Conner was a shadow as he circled the inside of The Fort's wall. It consisted of a chain link fence that extended around the perimeter of what was once a small farm surrounded by woods. The fence was tall, taller even than Willard, with large sheets of metal fastened to the outside over nearly every inch, creating a solid wall. In places, the sheets had been parted and the fence cut away to provide small firing ports in order to repel attackers. At the far end of the compound was a barn, the main doors locked from the outside. A ladder was propped absently against the disturbingly normal exterior, leading up and into the loft allowing entrance to the second floor of the structure from the outside. Two figures were wandering away from it, one leading the other by the arm. In the middle of The Fort sat an unassuming and even somewhat benign one story house.

After inspecting the perimeter, Conner found the perfect place to slip over the wall. While the outside might have proven impossible to climb, the sheets of metal didn't cover the inside of the compound. Behind the barn, Conner would be impossible to see as he scaled the fence and made his way to freedom. Of course such an act was easier said than done for a person missing three fingers. Steeling himself, he slipped the machete through one of the loops of his belt and gripped the metal links.

Before he could lift himself off the ground, something pushed against the back doors of the barn. The unexpected action startled him and he nearly yelped in surprise but managed to stifle the sound. Drawing his blade, he crept up to the rear entrance where he had heard the noise. These doors were locked as well. Cautiously, he rapped his knuckles on the door.

Immediately the barn doors pushed outward. The lock held but the crack between the doors was now big enough to see through, if only slightly. "Oh my God..."

Through the gap he saw an image that had been seared into his mind for months. The unmistakable cold, milky white eyes of a Walker. It moaned and pushed against the door again but the lock held firm under the pressure. From within the structure more groans revealed themselves to Conner's ears. Dozens, at least, all crying out as one with the prospect of a meal so close to them, but unattainable.

There had to be an entire horde within the structure. He had seen some disgusting things since all of this started but not once had he ever considered something like _this_ being possible. A wave of anger gripped him as he backed away from that charnel house before him. As he scrambled over the wall and out into the wilderness, he knew for certain that he couldn't just turn a blind eye to these men and their atrocities.

He was coming back to give out the justice they deserved, but he wouldn't be alone. And in a world like this, the only justice there was came from the barrel of a gun. He'd make sure that all of those sick bastards got their fair share. Inside, just beneath the surface, he was looking forward to it.


	12. (11) Hunted

Conner's lungs burned as he sprinted through the dark forest. Rain was beginning to fall, chilling him to the core. More than anything else right now he wanted to be able to stop, make a fire, and warm himself.

"Where are you?!" _Except I have this crazy asshole on my tail._ Willard's challenge bounced between the trees, eclipsing all other sounds. "You took her from me! Come on out and face me like a man!" His calls weren't the fierce, intimidating things expected of a being his size. They were tinted with grief and fear. _It's as if he thinks this thing is a real person._ Conner's hold tightened around the machete's hilt.

The beam of a flashlight sliced its way out of the black, sweeping across the trees. Conner barely slipped behind a large oak in time to avoid it. Frantic, Willard shouted again. "Just give her back! C'mon now, this ain't decent!"

The sound of rustling leaves reached Conner's ears. An ear shattering BLAM resounded, and Willard squealed with joy."I got ya now, you son of a..." Pausing, his pursuer let out a faint wail. "Goddamnit."

_Well, he has a gun. That's more than I knew a minute ago._ While useful, the new information was unsettling. Conner's only saving grace was that the man had no idea where he was. Surprise was his only advantage. If Willard even suspected where he was before he could close the gap between them...

"Wait..." The fanatic's voice was low, inquisitive. Peering out from behind the tree, Conner saw him kneeling down and investigating something in the grass. He ducked back around the corner just as Willard's head snapped up. He was staring directly at Conner's tree.

_Please, not now... Don't tell me he knows..._ But how could he know? He obviously hadn't a minute ago, so he must have found something that tipped him off. The anxiety began to overtake him, and Conner wiped his brow with his hand in an effort to calm himself. He brought his hand away, then realized that the area he'd wiped felt... Different. Warm. _No..._

Running his hand along his arm confirmed his fears. _My goddamn fingers started bleeding again_. Well, what was left of his fingers, but details like that didn't much matter at this point. The stumps where his fingers used to be must have begun bleeding sometime during the chase.

_Crunch._

What was that?

_Crunch._

It was closer now.

_Crunch._

_Oh God... He's coming closer._

_Snap!_

Willard's curse was as silent mouse. _Shit, he's just on the other side of the tree..._

Then he saw it. The barrel of the hunting rifle poked around the side of the tree, nearly formless against the bleak nothingness that made up his vision in the dark. The main body of the weapon, lighter, made of wood, came into view now. This was his chance.

Even missing three fingers, Conner was able to bat the rifle away. The barrel swung off to his left and the weapon discharged, sending a mind numbing ringing through his head, at the same time he brought Charlene around the side of the tree and thrust will all of his strength.

The blade punctured Willard's chest. The big man stood upright as if he didn;t even feel the blade in his gut. Willard's glare was slow, but as it gradually twisted his features into an expression of hatred Conner knew he had won. Then Willard let out a pained, awful wheeze. He kept his eyes locked on the machete lodged in his stomach. He managed to form a few words, his voice colored with sadness and betrayal.

"Charlene... Why?" He toppled, his weight taking the blade out of Conner's hands. Lying there in the mud Willard slowly died, a pool of bloody rainwater forming around him. Gripping the machete's hilt with both hands, Conner gave a massive pull. The thing came free, spattering blood all over the former solider. Below him Willard continued to whimper. Drops of rain slowly ran off of Conner's body as the storm increased in intensity, falling to the mud below. His breath came in difficult, massive gasps while a distant euphoria tickled the deeper places of his mind.

"What did I do? Why, why did you take her from me?" In silence, Conner watched the life drain from the beast's eyes. They slowly lost their distinction, color dulling until death had taken his victim completely leaving Conner alone in the woods, and victorious.

As he stood, Conner looked back at the corpse and spat in its face. Before he left, he muttered one last contempt for the monster that had masqueraded as a man. "I win." Without another word, he began to limp away, feeling a disturbing but powerful sense of accomplishment.


	13. (12) Sold Out

"So you're not working with them anymore?" Even though she had asked the question, Beth wasn't certain she would believe Tanner-Jack-no matter what he said.

"No, I'm not. I've been with you guys for months. If I wanted to sell you out, I would have done it already," he pleaded.

"Fuck this. Do you really believe him, Beth? His friends killed Alex, and Conner, and... And..." For the fifth time that night, Jennifer was asking for him to be tied up. Or worse. Upon learning of his previous involvement with the bandits, it had taken both Beth and Melissa to keep her from strangling Tanner on the spot. Despite the new developments, Beth was willing to trust Tanner. Or Jack. Whatever his name was, he was still the same person she'd known for months. Right?

"I didn't kill Riley, Jen. And they aren't my friends. I already told you that I left when they crossed the line."

"How about you run through that again? Less bullshit this time, please."

"Fine." He took a deep breath. "Daniel Lynch's militia was based out of Dawson, Georgia in the early days. The National Guard pulled out and made for Atlanta pretty quickly and Dawson was left defenseless until Lynch stepped up and organized the citizens. I was one of them. We did our best to block off roads and create choke points to funnel the dead into, but within a couple of weeks we lost the town." Jennifer rolled her eyes but he continued.

"We took a lot of casualties when the town was overrun. I was one of the lucky ones that managed to escape, along with Daniel Lynch, his brother Robert, and a few dozen others. We started going on supply runs to replenish the weapons and ammo we left behind when we ran from Dawson. Dan Lynch's goal was to eventually mount an attack on Dawson and retake the town. In addition to the supplies we also needed numbers, so any group of survivors we came across was 'drafted', as he put it, into our group."

"It had been a month since we left Dawson when I decided to leave. Robert, Amy, Willard and I were raiding a gas station for fuel when we found a family hiding out there. Robert told them they were being drafted to help us fight but one of them, the father I think, refused. Then Robert shot him."

Jennifer butted in. "And you had nothing to do with that, right? You just happened to be the one member of a band of murderers that had a conscience. How convenient."

"You want proof?" Tanner reached down but Jen's pistol came up in a flash. "Relax. I don't even have a gun anymore, remember?" Moving slowly he gripped his shirt and pulled it up, revealing his bare chest. "See?"

It took Beth a moment to focus but she saw it as soon as she did. A series of small scars dotted the lower left portion of Tanner's torso. They were random, without pattern, but there were at least a dozen of them. Jennifer's finger parted from the trigger of her pistol but she kept it pointed at Tanner all the same as he began to talk again. "I shot Robert. It was a reflex but it wasn't something I could take back. Something snapped inside of me when he killed that man. It all devolved into a huge mess then. Willard shot at me and one of the kids went for Robert's gun in the chaos. Amy killed him with her shotgun, then finished off the rest of them when the mother jumped up to try and fight her. I managed to hit Willard in the leg then ran but Amy chased me down. That's when I got this," he said, motion toward the scars.

"She caught up with me in a ditch on the side of the road about two miles north of the gas station and shot me. She was about to finish me off when I kicked out at her and got lucky. My boot got her right in the jaw and she dropped to the dirt, out cold. I crawled away and found a nearby warehouse where, luckily, some survivor had gathered a bunch of medical supplies. They weren't there at the moment so I raided his things for what I needed, patched myself up, and left."

"Then you found us, right?"

"Yeah. It was about two weeks later that I met up with you guys and changed my name."

"So," Melissa interjected, "Lynch is after you because you killed his brother?"

"That would be my guess," Tanner nodded. "He wasn't this bad back in Dawson. He was strict and liked control, but he wasn't like this. He never would have just shot Riley like that back then."

Jennifer's hands went up. "You just said that his brother shot a guy just for saying 'No'! Psychosis like that has to run in the family."

"I used to know Daniel. He hated killing. It was his brother that enjoyed that sick stuff, not him." Jen brought her hands up to her face in exasperation. "If I had to guess," Tanner went on, "He went all darkside or whatever after his brother died, and that turned him into the bastard he is now."

Jennifer opened her mouth to say something, but she never got the chance. In the forest, a few dozen feet away, the hissing of a road flare interrupted their conversation and spread a deep red glow throughout the trees. Several silhouettes became visible against the backdrop of the light. "That's one of the traps…"

Tanner sprinted for his rifle, stored by Beth's tent. Jennifer tried to stop him but the loud _CRACK!_ of a rifle round split the air. Tanner looked back and saw the woman fall forward, hands clasped around what remained of her knee as it jetted blood. Then the camp erupted into a maelstrom of lead.

* * *

Conner stumbled into the remains of their camp with a look of anguish. All around him was destruction and death. Three corpses, some of Lynch's men he assumed, lay spread out at the edge of the campsite. Shredded, burned tents marked a perimeter of debris that had once been their home.

In the middle of it all lay Melissa. Her eyes were closed and her arms had been placed across her chest. She was almost peaceful. If it weren't for the blood dampening her clothes and gathering in a pool beneath her it would have looked like she was taking a nap. Beth had just finished pulling a blanket over the girl's body as he approached.

"What happened?"

Beth tried, and failed, to meet his eyes. "They attacked. We were all talking about Tanner-"

"He's Jack, Beth. The one they're looking for."

"I know." Her voice was like a feather. "He told us after the shootout earlier today when Riley… well, you know. In the middle of it they snuck up on us, but the traps that you and Farley put out went off. If they hadn't-"

"They did. Don't worry Beth, they won't be back for a while."

"Jen was shot in the first few seconds. Melissa ran out to help her and she… just…" Beth leaned forward and rested her head against Conner's sore, blood stained shoulder. "I want to get away from this. Find someplace better where none of this happens."

Gently, Conner put his arm around her. They couldn't leave here with Lynch still looking for them, but he swore a silent oath to himself and he would make this place, here and now, safe the only way he could. Without even realizing it, he hefted the machete slightly at his side, losing himself in the comforting weight of it as Beth sobbed quietly into him.


	14. (13) R & R

"How are you doing?" From behind Jennifer felt a comforting hand rest itself on her shoulder. She really didn't want to talk to anyone right now, but her mangled knee left her little choice but to sit and listen. That, and Beth was stubborn when it came to people's feelings. She just had to make everything better. Then again, there were a few things that she wanted to get off her chest and this might be her last chance to do it.

"I didn't even like him, you know. I think I hated him."

Sitting down next to her, Beth crossed her legs. "I'm sure we all hate Farley right now. It's alright."

"Not Farley. Riley." _That_ stopped Beth cold. "I think it was on the fourth day. It was so long ago I can't even remember it right. My partner, Martin, and I were getting out of Athens. The whole town was infested with walkers and our precinct had fallen. We stole one of the police cruisers sitting out in the street and were getting out of town as fast as we could when we saw this kid, this stupid kid in a hoodie, trapped on top of a car."

"Riley?"

"Yeah." Unconsciously, Jennifer's hand went into her pocket and pulled out an old police badge with the name "Martin" stamped into the fabric. It was torn and stained with months of wear but she held it tight as she continued quietly. "There were maybe a dozen of them trying to get him. Martin stopped the car and said we had to help. We got out, started shooting, but then the kid thought he saw an opening. He jumped for it but messed up the landing and went face first into the cement. We hadn't killed them all yet so they went for him.

"But Martin, fucking good guy Martin, he rushed in to save the day like he always did. He threw himself on top of the kid just as the remaining walkers reached them. They bit him instead of the kid. They bit him a lot. His last words before I made sure he didn't turn were 'Take care of the kid. Get to Atlanta and keep yourselves safe.'"

"Riley got Martin killed? But you two seemed so close. Like brother and sister."

"I almost killed him. Some nights I would stay up on watch, even after we met up with you guys, and I'd just think about how Martin wasn't here because of that stupid nerd." She sniffled. Tears burned her eyes and she turned her head away from Beth. "Fuck, Beth, in High School I beat kids like him up. Called them names, threw their things to the floor. The works." Reaching into a pile of Riley's belongings, she pulled out a thick book. On the cover was an illustration of a scarred man holding what looked like a futuristic rifle of some sort.

Jennifer didn't look as Beth took the book from her. "Starship Troopers?" she asked. "By Robert Heinlein?"

Jennifer nodded while she kept looking at Martin's badge. "Yeah. It's science fiction or something. I thought it was stupid but he refused to let it go. He was always such a nerd."

Beth handed the book back to Jennifer, slowly, and the officer set it down behind her. "What changed between you two?" Beth inquired.

"He never talked at first. He was as quiet as Conner. He didn't like strangers."

"When you two first joined us, I thought he was a mute." Beth chuckled. "Who knew he was so funny?"

Jennifer cracked a faint smile. "We had that in common. After we'd been traveling together for a few days he finally opened up. It took me a while, but after I stopped thinking of him as the person who killed Martin, I started thinking of him as Riley. He was the one constant in a world gone to shit. Like the little brother I never had. Annoying, sarcastic, geeky, but in the end I could always count on him to try and lighten the mood." Her smile faded. "God, I wish he were here. We could use something to laugh about."

After a few seconds of silence Beth spoke again. "Do you feel better?"

Jennifer continued to rub Martin's badge as her gaze settled on Melissa's covered body lying at the edge of the camp. "I feel like murdering every one of the fuckers who did this."

"Before you get all fired up, Rambo, I found something in Farley's stuff that you might like." Digging through the ashen remains of a tent, Beth found it.

* * *

Conner had been back in camp for nearly an hour by now. At the edge of the camp the bloody soldier was leaning against a tree with the machete in hand. A few feet away, Tanner was doing the same. He hadn't mentioned Conner's fingers, or rather lack thereof, unlike Beth. After she'd bandaged his wounds, he left her to her own devices. Currently, she was having a heart to heart with Jennifer.

"You killed Willard, didn't you?" Conner kept staring ahead, masking his emotions, but he replied.

"I did. How'd you know?"

Tanner nodded at the machete. "Charlene. If Willard were still alive, he'd be after it. The only way you got this far with that blade is if you killed him."

"Upset that one of your friends is dead?"

Jack's face twisted into an expression of pain and disgust. "Not in the slightest. It's good that Willard is dead. He was an animal. It's been too long coming if you ask me."

"What about Lynch? Will you feel sad when I get my hands on him?" Conner asked, weaving the machete through the air by his side.

Jack just shrugged. "I don't think so. Willard was sick, but Lynch let him do what he did. He's even worse because he's not just sadistic, he's _smart._ Willard may have been an animal, but Lynch is a predator. I think he let Willard cut up Riley like that to serve as a warning to you guys. To let you know he wasn't playing games when he asked for me."

"He wasn't," Conner confirmed, placing his empty hand before Tanner's face. The man looked away, ashamed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "A guy who keeps walkers in a barn doesn't fuck around."

"He didn't get the walkers until after I left," Tanner said. "We were mostly on the move when I was still with them. They must have found that farm after I left."

Conner's voice was stern with a bit of impatience creeping through the carefully chosen words. "And why, exactly, would he have a barn full of dead people?"

Tanner brought his hand to his chin in thought. "Intimidation?" he guessed. "You said there was a ladder in front that led up to the loft. I'd guess that he takes prisoners up there when they don't want to talk, dangles them over the walkers and gives them a final chance to speak, then throws them in if they stay quiet."

"They were about to do that to me," Conner stated. "It was hard to catch because I was pretty much passed out, but Willard said something about taking me to the barn to hang out with all of the other guys who didn't talk."

"Yeah. Sorry."

"You just find the greatest friends, don't you, Jack?"

"It's Tanner." It was a few minutes before he spoke again. "So…" Tanner ventured, uneasily kicking his shoe against the ground, "What do we do after this is all over? If we live, what happens to me?"

Conner kept staring straight ahead as if Jack wasn't there. "You go your own way Jack. You do your part, don't fuck us over, and you get to live."

Jack sighed. His voice was wrapped in sorrow as he agreed. "I suppose that's for the best. Not even a chance, though? Did you even consider me staying?"

For the first time Conner turned to him. His tired green eyes were menacing in a way he had never seen the man capable of and emanated an aura of what almost seemed to be insanity. "I want to kill you," he stated flatly. "Every time I see you I see Alex, Riley, Melissa, and _these,"_ he cursed, holding his empty hand up again and waggling his remaining fingers. "I want to stick this blade in you and watch your life drain like I did to Willard, and I want to-" He cut himself off. On the inside, Tanner was ice cold. He tried not to show it.

"I learned something today, Jack."

"What's that?" Tanner asked timidly.

"I'm good at killing. When I shoved this knife in Willard's gut I sat there and watched him_._ I watched him die, saw his life fade away, and felt like I just won. Not survived, but _won_ something. Like I was the center of the world for a few moments. In fact, I look at you right now, and I have to push it down, you know?"

"Jesus… Conner…"

As if on cue Beth stepped between the two men. In her hand was a glass bottle, half full, with the label "Parsen's Whiskey" plastered across the face of it. She handed it over to Jack who, uneasily and with eyes locked on Conner, took a tentative sip. Beth took it back then passed it to Conner.

Surprised, Conner took a deep drink of the warm alcohol. "Son of a bitch. I can't believe he still had this."

Beth attempted to take the bottle back, but Conner held firm, taking another gulp of the flat whiskey. "Yeah," she said, "I found it in Farley's things. I figured we could all use something to take the edge off." Once again she grasped the bottle, but this time Conner relented.

"He found that when we were on our way out of Macon," Conner chuckled. "He said he was 'Saving it for a special occasion'. He stowed it in his pack and I never saw it again. I figured he'd finished it off months ago."

Beth took a small sip, but nearly choked on the taste. Conner smiled at her as she attempted to regain control of herself. "Yeah, paint thinner would have tasted better, huh?"

From behind the trio they heard Jennifer dragging herself over. Aggressively, she snatched the whiskey out of Beth's hands. "Are we doing this or what? I'm ready."

Jack shrugged, still uneasily observing Conner. "I guess I am. Any objections?" A chorus of "No" resounded through their small group. "Everyone know the plan?"

"Let's go over it again, just to be sure," Beth asked.

"Okay," Conner said stepping forward. "Jen, you go get the truck from where we stashed it after we got out of the city where Bradley died. While I was escaping I saw a hill behind Lynch's compound, so you park the truck there, turn on the lights and just do everything you can to distract them." Jennifer nodded.

"Tanner, Beth and I will give you a boost over the wall near the barn. Once Jen has most of the guards distracted you move up to the barn and bust the lock. The walkers should take'em by surprise. I'll get in from the other side and you and me will catch the ones who survive the walkers in a crossfire. Beth stays outside the main gates with a rifle and picks off any of them who manage to make it that far and escape. Got it?" Tanner and Beth nodded as well.

Jennifer began to stride out of the camp as well as she could but was only able to muster up a determined limp. "Let's get going," she growled as they slipped into the darkness.


	15. (14) The Best Laid Plans

"C'mon… just a little more…"

_Fuck that,_ Conner thought, as he strained with the effort of lifting Tanner. This was their third attempt at lifting him over the wall and he was getting tired. Fortunately, for him at least, his recent "makeover" as Tanner had so eloquently put it, rendered his hands nearly unable to support an object as large and heavy as a human being. That meant that Beth's hands were between Conner's own hands and Tanner's feet, giving her the brunt of the work.

"I think I got it…" Tanner managed. With a last, hearty upward shove, Conner and Beth sent the man up and over the sheet-metal laced fence. Now that he was over The Fort's wall, Tanner could cling to the links in the unprotected interior of the fence.

"On the off chance you succeed, just remember to find some cover and get ready to gun these assholes down. If we can actually trust you, that is."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Tanner replied curtly. Conner heard the the strain on the fence links as Tanner climbed down the other side and vanished into the compound. From beside him, Beth made the sign of the cross.

"You religious?"

She shrugged. "I figured now is as good a time as any to start. Besides, it's not like having the big man upstairs on our side could hurt." Finding no flaw in her logic, Conner simply took her arm and led her into the forest, keeping the main road leading to The Fort in sight at all times. After a minute or so of creeping quietly between the trees he stopped her. Just inside the trees were a few medium sized logs, missing pieces of bark in many places. A large rock rested near them, providing excellent cover for the natural sniper's next. The gate to the compound was easily visible from the well concealed position, providing a perfect line of sight for any would-be sharpshooters and leaving little cover to anyone attempting to flee the bandit's camp.

Stopping Beth, he motioned for her to lay down behind the logs. Passing the hunting rifle to her, he eased the Glock out of the holster on her hip. "Whatever happens, some of these guys are going to try to make a run for it," he said, pointing at the gate. "They might be fleeing, they might be coming out to look for more of us. Either way, you have a clear field of fire and plenty of ammo. Just pick them off as they come out. None of these bastards escape. Got it?" Grimly, she nodded. Resting the rifle on the log, she turned back to him as he drew the machete. In his right hand he held the blade he'd taken from them earlier that night, and in the other he wielded her Glock.

"Are you sure you want to do this? Just for revenge?" Without bothering to respond to her he slipped away. Creeping close to the wall he found a spot that hadn't been completely covered by the metal sheets and pulled himself up and over the fence. All he had to do was wait for Jen and her distraction. She should be getting the truck ready just about now...

* * *

The gunshot seemed to stretch for miles in each direction. Slowly, the horde turned toward her and began lurching toward the noise. _Fuck me, this was stupid._ Jennifer didn't add the fact that her leg was nothing but pure dead weight to the end of that thought. This was going to be hard enough as it was. As quietly as she could, she made her way around the small garage that had been nestled in a small open area in the forest. Of course it had to be surrounded by walkers, but then again what else had gone right this week?

Stumbling over massive tree roots and stepping on more twigs than she thought ever existed, within minutes she found herself in the right position to make her move. The main body of the herd was now among the trees searching for the noise they had heard only a minute earlier, but she had at best minutes before they began to wander back. And with her leg, she couldn't afford to move at anything less than terminal velocity toward her goal.

It seemed to take years to stagger across that open field to the garage, but she made it. With no walkers in sight, she grabbed the handle and pulled the door up as quietly as she could. The old door banged against its tracks several times on its way up, each one sounding like a bomb going off in the stillness of the pasture. After a minute, she had finally opened it enough to slip under and prop it up with a trashcan she found just inside the doors.

"Finally," she whispered to herself. She could barely make it out, but she managed to see the outline in the near darkness. Their old rust encrusted, but reliable truck was just where they had left it after escaping the city. Well, after _most_ of them had escaped. After making camp in the forest, they had stashed the vehicle in an abandoned garage in case they ever had need of it in the future. _And boy do we need it now,_ she thought. Thankfully Melissa had left the keys in it… probably.

Feeling her way around the frame of the vehicle in complete darkness, she had just located the door handle when she felt a sharp pinch on her right arm. She spun, ready to defend herself, and a walker she hadn't seen fell to the floor. Without thinking, she drew her weapon, aimed, and sent a bullet into the creature's skull.

The muzzle flash lit the interior of the building up as if the lights had been turned on. The brief illumination was accompanied by the echoing _BANG_ bouncing from wall to wall until eventually making its way out through the open garage door. By the dozens, maybe even the hundreds, the walkers outside began to moan with hunger.

Flinging the vehicle's door open, she scrambled into the seat, both pistol and whiskey bottle in hand and slammed the door behind her. Groping blindly, she located the keys and was rewarded with the satisfying vibration of the engine starting up. Wasting no time, she stomped her good leg down on the gas pedal and nearly tore the entire door free as the truck flew out of the building.

Letting out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, she brought the truck to a stop several dozen feet down the road from the garage. The horde was still advancing, but she had a minute or two to catch her breath. _It's the least I deserve,_ she thought as she scratched at an itch on her arm.

_Wait…_ Her fingers felt warm and wet as she scratched. _No…_ Slowly realizing what had happened, she craned her head down toward her arm with a growing sense of horror.

A piece was missing. A big piece. The mouth-shaped gap oozed blood as the despair overtook her and tears marched down her cheeks. _Well,_ she thought bitterly, _like I said, what else has gone right this week?_ She slammed her fist against the dashboard of vehicle and sent a decrepit rattle throughout the front of the vehicle.

"Fuck me," she moaned as she rested her head on the steering wheel.


	16. (15) Don't Fear the Reaper

This was it. Below her, at the base of the hill was Lynch's headquarters. She was supposed to stay up here and distract the guards below. Make a ruckus, draw their attention with the truck, become the center of attention for awhile. The bite changed all of that. She'd be more than just a distraction. With nothing left to lose she decided that she might as well go all out and bring a few special surprises with her. Nearly a hundred, if she wanted to guess, all rotting and groaning and about to sweep over Lynch's compound and grind it beneath their cold, undead heels. Hopefully her friends would make it out. Hopefully that asshole Lynch wouldn't. Or Farley. Or the rest of those monsters.

Reaching into the passenger seat, she drunkenly lifted the bottle of whiskey to her lips and took a swig. It was just as horrible as it had been an hour earlier back at camp, but then again Farley had never looked like a man who knew his alcohol. Setting the bottle back into the passenger seat, she grabbed Martin's badge from her pocket and set it on the dashboard next to the yellowed and torn copy of _Starship Troopers._

_Right. This is it. Let's list the charges._ Glancing back to the passenger seat, she spied the open bottle.

_One count of open alcoholic beverages in a vehicle._ She reached back for the bottle, this time setting it in her lap for an easier reach.

_One count of Driving while Under the Influence of alcohol. _Something thumped against the back of the truck, but she didn't check the rearview mirror to see what it was. She already knew as the rasping moan of the walker horde behind her beat itself against the windows.

_One count of Grand Theft Auto. One count of breaking and entering._ That fucking garage. Her bite began to itch at the thought of that place, but she resisted the urge to scratch.

A rotting face pushed itself against the driver's side window. The walker was missing a nose, and both of its eyes were completely white. Jennifer stifled a small laugh as she saw the hairless corpse still dressed in the remains of a tattered police uniform, and added another charge to the list.

_Failure to provide ID and insurance information when stopped by an officer of the law._ More thumps began to reverberate throughout the vehicle, and she knew it was nearly time. _Shit, I almost forgot about Speeding. I'm pretty sure my license expired last month, too. _

_I'd love to see how much the ticket for all this would cost me. _She rummaged through the messy, dank glove box of the vehicle for a few seconds and pulled out an old tape with a series of words marked on the front of it in Sharpie.

"Paint it Black_,_ Rolling Stones, 1968 Concert," she mumbled to herself, reading the barely legible scrawl. She slid it into the receiver, and after a few seconds the song began softly fluttering through the vehicles barely operational speakers. Frustrated, she gave the player a sharp blow with her fist. Almost immediately the music began coming through at a normal volume.

She grimaced. It wasn't really her kind of music but it would have to do. Revving the vehicle's engine, she turned the high beams on and steadily cranked the song's volume up until she felt her ears would begin to bleed.

_Alright. Let's do this._ She began to take a deep breath, but decided that whiskey was more important than oxygen and finished off the bottle. Violently, she brought her good hand down on the horn once, twice, then a third time. Below, she could barely see figures scrambling to their positions within the fortified fences.

Nearly surrounded by the undead she'd lured now, she stomped her good leg down as hard as she could on the gas pedal. Swiftly opening the window, she let out the loudest war whoop she could manage and slammed her hand down on the horn again, holding it there so the sound continued to reverberate for miles around in the formerly still night air.

As the music blasted through the speakers and out the now open window it mixed with the metallic blaring of the vehicle's horn as the truck rocketed down the hill in a blur of motion. Bright flashes flared to life below as the bandits sent out an ineffectual and hastily aimed series of shots meant to stop her, but she only pressed the gas harder as the reinforced fence rapidly sped toward her windshield. _  
_

The clang of metal was deafening as the front of the truck plowed through the fence. Nearly 20 feet of the bandit's fence was ripped from the ground, posts and all, with another several feet on either side of the breach bending inward from the force of the collision and sending clumps of dirt several feet into the air with the concussive force of her collision. Turning the wheel hand over hand, Jennifer felt the _thud_ of a body bouncing off the truck's rusted frame as she attempted to turn.

But she was moving forward too fast. Helplessly, she felt the vehicle turn on its side and begin rolling uncontrollably through the interior of the bandit's base. She caught a glimpse of an old wooden shed through the windshield before the living projectile she was in careened through it, obliterating the structure in the span of a heartbeat. Bruises and scrapes adorned her body, with more being added every second as the truck continued to tumble. The song on the tape had long since stopped playing.

As suddenly as the vehicle had flipped, it stopped with a disfiguring _WHAM_ as it wrapped itself around a tree mere feet from the house. The frame twisted and bent around the pillar of bark and wood until it was unrecognizable as a vehicle. Her bones cracked and splintered as the truck violently rearranged itself around the tree.

Vision going black, Jennifer didn't fight the little voice in her head that told her to let go. She must have looked a complete mess but she would never know for sure. The bite had been sapping her energy from the second she had received it, and now she lacked even the small amount of power needed to twist herself around to look at her broken body. Or maybe the crash had paralyzed her. It didn't really matter anymore. Senses dulled by whiskey, she only felt a faint, distant throbbing where there should have been pain and fear and regret.

Her last thoughts were of Martin and Riley and if she was going to be able to see them again. Then the last of her breath escaped her body and she succumbed to her wounds.


	17. (16) Remember the Alamo

"What the fuck?!" Daniel Lynch burst from the door of the house just in time to see a rusted old truck collide with a tree. All over The Fort his men were running to get their weapons and man their positions. Settling in next to him, Amy checked the safety of her AK-47. Incredulously, he turned to her. "What in the name of God just happened here?"

Her voice had no emotion. "A truck just drove through the fence. There's a huge hole in it, but we've got guys on the way to secure it. Josh, Harold, and Farley are rounding up a few people to go out hunting for any more of these bastards. We think it might… be Farley's… old group?"

As the steel voiced woman's speech corroded, Lynch found himself slowly taking on a mask of horror as he saw, for the first time in a long while, Amy's face drop. Shakily, she extended a finger toward the fence but words escaped her.

The hill behind the house, the hill the truck had come down, was a river of the undead. There were easily a hundred of them, probably more, lumbering down the hill packed shoulder to shoulder so thick and unflappable that the ground was pulverized beneath their feet as they advanced.

Advanced toward the massive hole in his wall.

Lynch regained his composure. "Get everyone to that gap in the wall!" he bellowed, waving his hand over in the direction of the oncoming herd. "Get anyone with a weapon out here! Have Harold and Freeman run ammo out from the house!"

"What about the driver?" she asked, referring to the truck.

"Whoever it is isn't our main concern. If they're not dead, they're at least not a threat to us after that crash. Now go!" Amy hurried to comply. Lynch sprinted to the gap with a few men at his side, pulled his shotgun, and began firing. The horde had already reached what remained of his fence.

* * *

_That wasn't the fucking plan! Jesus Christ, Jen, what the hell did you do?!_ Tanner couldn't pull any answers from his thoughts and settled on carrying out his portion of the plan. The wave of walkers was teeming now, as corpses attempted to climb over each other the closer they got the the bandits. The tide of death carried itself closer.

As soon as he was sure he wouldn't be seen, he zipped around to the front of the barn. The main defensive line had their backs to him, affording him a few extra seconds before one of the defenders would doubtlessly turn to notice him.

Not being proficient with picking locks, Tanner brought the butt of his hunting rifle down on the padlock. It didn't budge. He hit it again, with similar results. Swearing under his breath, he took several steps backward. Hold the rifle backwards, so the butt was facing the barn doors like the tip of a spear, he charged.

The butt of the rifle splintered and cracked under the force, but so did the lock. Tanner dropped the now useless firearm to the ground, grabbed the door handles, and threw the barn open. Dozens of decayed faces turned to him, momentarily taking in the first sight of food they had seen in weeks.

They surged forward out of the barn. Tanner dashed back around the side in an attempt to lose them, but it wasn't necessary. The bandits' main defensive line was throwing lead into the horde ahead of them with a discipline most drill sergeants would praise. The continuous fusillade of bullets was more than enough to grab the attention of the barn walkers, who slowly began to stagger toward the back of the formation.

Offering a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deity had watched over him, Tanner nestled himself in a dark, secluded corner of the compound and drew his sidearm, eyeing the killzone between the bandit's current position and the only cover they had: the house.

* * *

More than anything Farley wished he had his weapon kit with him. Steam rose from the super-heated barrel of his M4 as he sent shot after shot into the mob of walkers before him. He had no illusions of victory even as effortlessly cut down the approaching herd. Their numbers, as always, were infinite and his bullets weren't. He'd been here before. This was Echo all over again, except there wouldn't be a chopper coming to lift him out of here.

Suddenly his rifle stopped firing. He had just slipped a new magazine into it, leaving only one possibility. _Fucking jams,_ he cursed. Kneeling down, he began a half effective attempt and wedging a spent shell casing out of the weapon's ejection port. That's when blood sprayed down on him from above.

The man beside him literally had walkers hanging off him. Three of the corpses had clamped their teeth into his flesh as they dragged the unfortunate man to the ground. Blood continued to spurt from the bandit's multiple wounds as a realization smacked Farley across the face.

Those walkers had come from behind.

Throwing his jammed firearm down, he drew his pistol and surveyed the rest of the scene. Half of The Fort's defenders were now writhing in the clammy grasp of the undead as the walkers from behind consumed their formation. Without thinking he broke from his position and made for the house, the screams of the dying hounding him all the way. A few survivors joined him while the rest made a break for the gate.

Then the man beside him fell. A sharp, echoing _CRACK_ wormed its way through the sounds of the massacre and Farley realized that the man hadn't tripped, he'd been shot. Another round snapped through the air near Farley and embedded itself in the fallen man's head. As his body went limp Farley sprinted into the house. The last man through, Lynch of all people, slammed it harshly back into its frame.

"I don't suppose that telling them to 'get off the lawn' would work?" Farley joked.

Lynch glared at him. "Are you stupid? Your life is on the line here, and you're making jokes?"

"Jokes are more fun than plans."

"The only joke I see is how you lasted this long with that attitude. Barricade the hell out of this place. We hold the line."

_Because just shooting ourselves just wouldn't be nearly as dramatic._ Farley stifled the thought and the urge to repeat it aloud.


	18. (17) Bloodlust

Beth slid the bolt of the rifle back, then forward again putting another round in the chamber. Her second victim fell, clutching at his chest as his legs went out from under him. Two remaining bandits were exiting the compound through the gate and making for the forest but she had them in her sights. Another shot boomed from her rifle.

* * *

Roy flew sideways and hit the ground just behind Josh. Josh came to a stop next to his friend to check for a pulse that he knew wasn't there. The bullet had passed clean through the man's heart. The sniper out there was good. He'd never make it. Alone, no cover, and over fifty feet of open ground between him and the cover of the trees. He closed his eyes and waited for that final bullet to meet him.

* * *

Her finger refused to move. All it would do was twitch as it hovered on the trigger while the sights of the weapon swayed gently back and forth over the man in the field before her, standing still as a statue. She had a job to do. She wasn't supposed to let any of them go.

"Crap." Beth eased her finger out from the trigger guard and rested her hand on the stock of the rifle. She pointed the barrel of the gun off to the side and stared out at the man she couldn't kill. In a few seconds she saw his head swivel around, scanning for and sign of her before he ran. She left her weapon down and watched as he disappeared into the trees.

Something had told her to let that one go. She wasn't a murderer, no matter her job.

* * *

Farley had barely finished sliding a bookshelf in front of the front door before the walkers began pounding on it. The house was a flurry of activity as the few occupants attempted to seal off the entrances. With any luck, he thought to himself, the herd would follow the survivors that had tried to flee through the gate and end up bypassing the house altogether.

That's when the back door flew open, shredding the lock with a force no walker could have, and something far more terrible than the living dead stormed through.

* * *

As the door swung inward before him a strange urge came over Conner. He threw away his pistol without knowing why and fastened his grip more tightly around the hilt of the machete. A gun wouldn't be as fun.

Outside, the herd was paying to mind to him. The few bandits still writhing in agony where their defensive line had been were drawing all of the attention of the walkers, giving Conner all the time he needed to deal with Lynch personally. Storming through the back room, he shoved the door to the house's living room open and was greeted by twisted expressions of terror. Lynch's men knew their time had come.

One of them reacted before the others. He brought up a pistol and fired, but the errant round lodged itself in the wall a few feet away from Conner. Then Conner lost himself in the rush of violence.

Everything went red. The borders of his vision turned a deep crimson and he saw the world through a blood red filter of fury. He lunged forward with an animal snarl and brought his machete upward from under the shooter's arm. The limb separated cleanly from the man's body and he screamed, stumbling backward trying in vain to stop the blood gushing from the open stump. Conner swung again and buried the machete in the top of the bandit's head.

He felt a great blow connect with the back of his head. Unfazed, he spun to see a second man holding the butt of his rifle over his head, preparing to strike again. Conner horizontally slashed and the blade opened up a deep furrow in the man's torso. The rifle slipped from his grasp as his hands went to the wound. With another sweep, the tip of the blade sliced through the man's neck and sent him sprawling to the floor. As the man choked out his last, Conner saw his final victim standing at the end of the room, gun in hand. It was pointed directly at him.

Conner didn't care. He charged.

* * *

Farley was shaking. Conner has just cut two men to pieces in front of him without so much as a word. Farley's pistol was trained on his rapidly approaching former friend but for some reason he didn't fire.

It was _Conner._ It really was. Farley was terrified.

His reflexes told him to shoot. His training agreed. But _he_ knew that he couldn't. He'd given up his future for Conner. His dreams of college. His dreams of becoming a Marine. He'd killed for Conner. Hanson and Bradley's blood were on his hands, and all of it for Conner. He hadn't been able to hold back his frustrations in the shed, though. A lifetime of contempt for what he'd given up without so much as a "thank you" spilled out. And he'd taken Conner's fingers, when he'd promised Lucy that he'd keep Conner safe.

And now Conner was barreling toward him. A nearly demonic expression adorned his face, caught up in the adrenaline rush of violence and hungering for blood. But Farley couldn't shoot. Not his friend. He'd already caused so much pain. He couldn't take that final step into damnation.

After all, it wasn't just about living. It was about being able to live with yourself.

* * *

A twinge of familiarity struck Conner as he reached the final gunman. A small voice in his head was screaming at him to stop but an even louder one echoed and silenced the small, far off voice of reason. Conner thrust the blade forward and was rewarded with the feeling of the the steel slicing through flesh and the pained gasps of the man before him as the tip of the machete came out his back. He wasn't able to make out the face of his prey through his rage tinted vision, but as the bearded figure slid to the ground he pulled his machete out of the man's chest. His kill, in a dingy, camouflage patterned uniform, without even attempting to reach a weapon, trailing blood behind him as he dragged his limp body away. Whoever it was would be dead soon enough.

He couldn't spare the time to finish them off. He still had Lynch to take care of.


	19. (18) Showdown

Conner's foot connected with the door and sent it flying inward. One of the hinges came loose and it began to sway back and forth as he pushed his way into the room, a kitchen.

"LYCNH!"

"Hold it right there, amigo." Across the kitchen, standing with his back to the kitchen counter, was Lynch. He was in a fighting stance and wielding a knife in his right hand. What little light there was beamed through the window, silhouetting him against the darker backdrop of the wall behind him. "I can't let you walk away from this, you know. You killed good people. _Friends._"

Conner's mind was somewhere else as he lunged forward, machete held high. He swung in downward trying to slice his foe's head, but he leaped backward and brought his knife around from a low angle, slicing upward and opening a gash in Conner's leg. Though far from serious, Lynch was emboldened.

Swinging again, Conner's blade was redirected by Lynch's, and the bandit leader's knife came at a horizontal level toward Conner's throat. With his left arm, he drove Lynch's hand higher, and the blade passed harmlessly, if closely, above his head. Outmatched in agility, Conner retreated several steps as Lynch regained his composure and dropped into his stance once again.

"I've been doing this for years, boy," he taunted. "Now I'll show you-"

Conner feinted right and Lynch jumped to guard his side. Caught off guard in the middle of his threat, the leader hadn't expected Conner to recover so quickly. Conner then struck left, embedding the tip of his blade into Lynch's right elbow. To his credit, Lynch merely gave a small grunt as he twisted away and recovered.

Tossing the knife casually to his left hand, he sneered at Conner and charged. Conner stepped to the right, but Lynch had prepared for that and stopped short of where Conner had just been. Conner saw him strike, then felt the large, stinging pinprick of metal piercing skin. Blood ran down Lynch's knife but Conner's fury allowed him to ignore the pain.

Conner retreated again, clutching at where he thought the wound was and throwing his face into a grimace of pain and fear. Sensing that he had the upper hand, Lynch advanced swiftly in for the kill. He was faster than Conner anticipated, catching up with the wounded man and hooking a foot around the back of Conner's leg. Lynch gave a slight tug, but it was enough to bring Conner to the ground. Stars exploded into his vision as his head bounced off the floorboards, opening another cut among many. Now standing over him, triumphant, Lynch raised the knife and prepared for the finishing blow.

At the last moment Conner rolled toward the man, jumped up on his knees, and swung Charlene. He felt the blade connect with something and slice through, but he didn't stop there. He brought the hilt of the machete forward and up, and used it to crush Lynch's nose and shove him aside, dodging as the bandit leader gave a final inadequate slash with his knife as he met the ground. Conner stood there, panting, as he spun around and waited for Lynch to attack again. But no attack came.

Lynch tried, and failed, to rise. A bloody gash had been dug into his leg, rising from his ankle all the way up to mid-thigh and making it impossible for him to stand. "Son of a _bitch…_" Steadily, Conner faced his injured adversary and fixed the monster with a dagger-like stare. As swiftly as he could with his wounded body, Lynch attempt to turn and face Conner, a difficult task without being able to stand. He had managed to make it most of the way.

Wobbling over to his beaten foe, Conner narrowed his eyes as he savored the moment. If Lynch were afraid, he didn't show it. Uneasily, Lynch tried to make himself as big as possible from his position below Conner.

"W-what now?" The bandit leader choked out.

Conner brought the machete down and embedded the blade several inches deep into Lynch's shoulder. The man's face twisted in pain as he stifled a scream, looking from the blade to Conner, then back again.

Conner rested his foot against Lynch's chest and slowly pushed him back while holding the weapon firm, slowly freeing it. He kept up the downward pressure, cutting deeper into the bandit's shoulder as the blade slowly slid out. Lynch's face writhed with agony while the steel continued its journey out of his flesh, destroying more and more as Conner worked the blade out with a demented smile on his lips. As soon as he felt the weapon leave his prey's body completely, he brought it up once more.

Finally, Lynch recoiled in fear. He couldn't bring his arms up to defend himself, but he loosed a pitifully terrifying scream that seemed to shake the room. Halfway through, Conner swung Charlene once more, planting it into Lynch's neck. His scream was cut off, quite literally, while he made a feeble tug on the blade as the scream ended in his destroyed trachea in the form of a series of slowly fading, agonized gurgling noises.

_It's over._ The thought enveloped him as he stood there over Lynch's corpse taking in the moment. His lungs burned and the rage slowly receded to the periphery of his consciousness, letting the pain back in. He felt like he was on fire, trapped in a stove turned all the way up as his wounds cried to him for attention in unison with their burning, white hot pinpricks rushing through his body.

And he _loved_ it. These weren't mere wounds, they were battle scars. They marked his victory over Lynch and his henchmen, a sign of his vengeance and the lives he had taken. Surrounded by death, Conner had never felt more alive than he did at this moment, relishing in the aftermath of the hunt amid the remains of the deadliest prey known to the world.

"Oh my God… Conner?"

His killer's smile faltered when he turned to see Beth standing in the kitchen's door frame. Her face was the picture of fear itself as she gaped at the massacre in the house. Casually, Conner plucked the machete from Lynch's neck.

"Oh Jesus… I think I'm going to throw up… what did you do, Conner?"


	20. (19) Aftermath

Beth hunched over and retched. Conner strolled over to her, concerned. "Beth? Are you okay?" She recoiled from him with a fear Conner didn't understand. What had happened?

Then he noticed the machete in his hand. It was covered in blood from tip to hilt, and for some reason he couldn't seem to let go of it. It was strange. He didn't even remember entering the house. The last thing he recalled was climbing over the fence. Everything after that was all a red tinted blur.

Suddenly flashes appeared in his mind. People, bodies, the machete held in his hands as he-

As he-

And Farley-

Lynch-

Slowly, he turned. His eyes were greeted with the mutilated corpse of what had once been Daniel Lynch. Now it was almost unrecognizable. "What…" Glancing back to Beth, he saw the room behind her, the front of the house. The mangled corpses within leaking blood onto the floor and forming an ever expanding carpet of deep red. Conner looked down at his uniform. He was literally drenched in gore and flecks of blood were stained on his face. It was everywhere, and the air was thick with the smell of death.

Then it hit him. As if out of the fog, the images of his rampage rushed back. He remembered it all. The blood, the death, the disturbing and alien sense of _joy._ "Beth?"

"Y-yes Conner?"

"I don't feel good." The walls were a canvas of gore, any peace or tranquility that had once remained in the floral patterns on the wallpaper having been rubbed out completely by his killing spree. The building screamed at him, forced him to face the atrocity he had committed, the atrocity he had _enjoyed_. He could feel the evil streaming out of them, rushing at him from all around and from within himself, demanding that he finally awaken and realize what he had become.

The pain he had embraced moments before overwhelmed him and he wanted to scream until his lungs collapsed. He felt like he was burning alive as he realized that this place really _was_ Hell, now. And he'd made it that way.

This was a circle of the underworld that couldn't be allowed to remain.

* * *

Standing far away from factory of nightmares that had been Lynch's bandit camp, Conner and Beth watched the tips of the flames leap high into the night. The entire compound was ablaze, the fire turning the menacing compound into ash and cinders before them. The blaze was massive, throwing up palls of smoke everywhere as the heat seared Conner and Beth even in their comparatively peaceful spot beside the road a few hundred feet away.

Jennifer and Farley were dead. Conner's breath caught in his throat as he remembered the uniformed bandit dragging himself away during the rampage. The sense of familiarity during his rampage could only mean one thing. That had been Farley. Conner wanted to lie down somewhere and die.

Their group was gone in the span of hardly more than a day. So many good people, gone within a few heartbeats. Conner had been here before. It was an old feeling that left pangs of guilt and depression in its wake. It had never quite left him after battering down his defenses on that dark day outside Atlanta, until now. Now it had been replaced with something darker, a newly awakened lust for blood. He wasn't just good at killing, he enjoyed it. He knew that now, and he hated himself for it.

"That place was sick," Beth murmured. "It had to burn."

"Yeah," Conner nodded in agreement.

"So what now?"

Conner couldn't speak. He felt like vomiting as the memories of his rampage danced through his mind, taunting him with the scared faces of his victims and the horror he had brought to them. Hunting rifle slung across his back, machete clutched in hand, he put one foot in front of the other and began to walk. He couldn't bear to watch the fire any longer. He didn't want to acknowledge the monster he had become.

Beth fell into step behind him, uncharacteristically gloomy and quiet.

* * *

From his vantage point on the hill, Tanner watched as the last of Lynch's farm crumbled to dust under the heat of the blaze. Walkers scattered all over the area, dispersing as the herd broke up and each corpse began to wander its own way. It was over. Lynch, Amy, all the others, _dead._ Maybe there was justice in this new, fucked up world after all. He'd take it. Now, however, it was time for him to go.

"C'mon partner, let's move." Gingerly, he lifted Farley up and out of the dirt. "We have to find the others. They should be around here somewhere." The soldier didn't respond. For the second time since dragging him out of Lynch's madhouse, Farley had passed out from the pain of his wound.

Grunting with the effort, Tanner began hauling the man away from the inferno. Hopefully they could find a safe place where he could take care of Farley before they found the others again. It was only an hour or two until morning, and he wanted to be able to move by then.


	21. (20) One for the Road

Tanner brought the bottle up to Farley's lips with noticeable care. The cool water cascaded out of the opening as he tried to get Farley to drink, but he was only partially successful. Nearly half of the already depleted bottle's contents missed his mark and spilled over Farley's face. The effort of swallowing what little had made it into his mouth was almost too much for the soldier, but he persevered. It hurt on the way down. Everything hurt.

"Why?" Farley broke into a fit of coughing with the strain of attempting to speak. The grass beneath him was matted down with his sticky blood, slowly flowing from his wound.

"I got a second chance, so I figured you deserved one, too." Tanner slid his hands under the dying man's head and tilted it upward, once again bringing the bottle up to his mouth. This time, most of the water made it in. "I'll ask you the same thing 'Why?' Why didn't you kill Conner?"

Farley's voice was a faint rasp. "You saw?"

"Yeah, I did. I saw Conner run into the house and followed when the coast was clear, but I was a bit late. I saw what you did, but a bunch of walkers cut me off from the house right after you went down. It took me a few minutes to shake them and get back. By that time, the house was burning and I dragged you out." He reached to the wounded survivor and gracefully took his hand.

"Even after everything I did?"

"Yeah. Everyone gets a second chance if they want one."

"I'm a bad person, Tanner. I cut off my best friend's _fingers_ for Christ's sake. I… I killed Bradley…"

Tanner gave the man's hand a reassuring squeeze. "We've all done horrible things to survive." Farley nodded in agreement, saving his words. "The important thing is that we can't let our circumstances decide who we are. You did, but you decided to come back from it."

"I'd do it all again, you know." Farley's voice was weak now. His eyes fluttered open and closed as his life force slowly drained from his body.

"Even after knowing how it all turns out?" Tanner questioned. "Knowing what happens in the end?"

Another round of violent coughs racked Farley's body and a few droplets of blood were thrown from his mouth. "I made a promise. It was a long time ago, but I made it, and I try to keep my promises. I regret the things I had to do. Hanson, Bradley, I never wanted to do that shit, but I gave my word. Besides, he was my friend." The soldier cringed as another bolt of pain shot through him. "I don't blame him for this. After what I did to him, I can't."

"You've done some bad things, Farley. But I don't think that you're a bad person." Tanner emptied the last of the water into Farley's mouth. He squeezed the dirty plastic bottle and tossed it over his shoulder. "I forgive you. For everything. If it means anything coming from a guy like me."

"It might mean something," he gasped. "If you've got a smoke for me. "

After a few seconds of sifting through his shirt pocket, Tanner produced a bent and wrinkled cigarette. It was the only one he had, so he placed it softly between Farley's lips. He fished a half empty book of matches from the same pocket, struck one, and lit the cigarette. The soldier took a deep drag then let out a puff of smoke.

"One for the road, huh Tanner?"

Tanner tried to put on a smile and brighten the mood with a joke, but he was barely able to keep the sorrow out of his voice. "It's my last one, so enjoy, will you?" Farley inhaled again.

"Will you do something for me, Tanner?"

"Sure. What is it?"

"Just make sure Conner got out of there okay."

"I will." Tanner's voice was hoarse as Farley slowly faded.

Farley didn't reply. Instead, took the cigarette from his mouth and held it between his fingers. He pointed upward, using the small lit cylinder as a guide. The glowing tip was angled toward a small constellation directly above them. The tiny pinpricks of light dotted the night sky, giving off a faint glow which was all the light the two men could see by at this point. "The stars out here…"

"Yeah, I know." One last time, Tanner squeezed his hand.

"They're so beautiful." His arm went limp along with the rest of his body as Farley took the final step into the abyss. A few warm tears made their way down Tanner's cheeks as he crossed Farley's arms over his chest and left the cigarette smoldering in Farley's mouth. Making sure that Farley wouldn't come back, he stood.

For a long time he could do nothing but stare at the body on the ground. By the time he found himself able to move, the cigarette had burned out and the sun was beginning to creep over the horizon. As the light rays of a new day cast themselves across his face, he eased Farley's dogtags off and placed them in his pocket. He had no idea where Conner would be, but he made a promise and he'd do his best to keep it.


	22. (21) Memorial

5 Days Later

Mother Nature had already set about the task of reclaiming the landscape and wiping it clean of all signs of human development. The road they walked down was filled with cracks, tiny fissures through which blades of grass sprouted as they slowly erased the withering signs of man's interference with the natural order.

Abandoned, burned out cars littered the road, many with their owners still inside them. Some moved, but most didn't. The sun beat down on Beth and Conner as they stared at the structure just beside the ruined road, saying nothing.

It was a stone wall, stretching down the road for a great distance in both directions. The entire side of it that faced them was white, or had been long ago. Now it was covered in writing. Letters and words of all shapes and sizes, some neat some messy, some large some small. The entire face of it was almost completely covered in names, dates, and places. An arrow pointed to an open gate nearby, a break in the wall and a way to the other side with the word "Paint" written in black beside it in capital letters. The disjointed text rolled across the smooth surface and reached out in both directions, enticing wandering survivors to add more names to the record.

In awe, Beth stepped forward. "What is this?"

Conner's hand was still wrapped around Charlene. "It's a memorial. To everyone who died since this thing began." He strolled along the wall and scanned the names. A few of them stood out for reasons he couldn't grasp.

_Marlene and Richard – Atlanta_

_Danny - Gil's Pitstop, Day 2_

_Bart, Peter, Janet, and Mike – 6/12, Augusta_

_Lee, Ben, Kenny – Savannah_. Conner hesitated over the last three names. Strangely, the name "Kenny" was crossed out with a different color than it had been written in. He touched the marks, and his fingers came away wet. Someone had done this recently.

A spot in the middle of the crawling words presented itself to him. He didn't resist a sudden urge that came over him, and as if in a trance he walked through the gate, picked up one of the cans of paint located just inside, and went to work on the barren spot on the wall. From behind him he heard Beth begin to voice a question, then go silent as she realized what he was doing.

Eventually he lowered the brush and looked over his handiwork. There were so many names, all of them good people that had been taken by this disaster. _Keenan, Carter, Dorn, Kelley, Hanson – Macon_ formed the first list. Below them was another. _Bradley, Alex, Riley, Jen, Melissa ,Tanner, Farley. _He didn't add a location.

"It's nice," Beth complimented. "At least it's something." Conner stood there with a vacant look, empty eyes fixed on the names he'd put down. On one name in particular.

"Are you alright?" Beth asked with a puzzled expression. "Do you want to talk?"

"I'm… I'm a killer," he finally managed. She had the uneasy feeling that his response was directed more toward himself than it was to her.

Beth walked up to him and grabbed his arm, trying to turn him back to face her. "No, Conner, you're not-"

He jerked his arm away and spun around to her, shoving her to the ground with one smooth motion of his arm. "Get off of me!" His eyes were swimming with fear as he backed away from her. "Please!"

Beth's face was the very definition of bewilderment. "Listen, I'm not going to hurt you, I just need to actually want to _speak_ with you."

"I know you won't hurt me, because I'm trying not to hurt you!"

Beth's blood began to ice over in her veins. Conner's thoughts were incoherent and fragmented as they spilled out of him.

"I think I knew it was him. He didn't shoot, but I kept charging, and I killed him, and I couldn't stop. I didn't want to, but Lynch was close, and I threw my gun away, and, oh, fuck me, I killed them! What the fuck is wrong with me?"

"They were sick people! You had to do it."

"But I didn't have to _enjoy_ it!" He shrieked. "For the love of God, Beth, I killed the guy who used to be my best friend! I shoved this fucking knife right into him and I _smiled!_ And I didn't even know I'd done it until you snapped me out of it! Back there was all _me._ I'm good at killing, Beth. I like it. And that scares me." He looked at the machete. "I've been trying to let go of this thing ever since we left that place, but I can't. It's almost like… like… I don't even know anymore. The Conner from before the world went to shit would be sick at what I've done. Or maybe he wouldn't, maybe I still am him and he'd be proud of what I did, and that's the scariest thing I can think of and I'm terrified because I just don't know!"

His vision became misty and his legs gave out from under him. He dropped to the ground and crawled backward until his back was against the memorial. His knees came up and he grabbed them, holding them up against his chest in despair. "I don't know if this entire mess has changed me or if I've always been a psychopath, but I'm scared, Beth. I really am."

"Conner, you weren't always a-" Beth stopped herself. "I mean you _aren't_-

"I always wanted to join the military." Conner blurted. "I always thought I wanted to serve my country, but I don't think that was why I joined. Not the real reason. I think, maybe, that I wanted to join so badly because it would let me…" Conner's voice became faint. "Well, you know what soldiers do.

"But I flunked the Marine entrance exams. Farley didn't, but he dropped out when I told him I didn't make it. Then we tried the Army and it happened again. I think I know why I they didn't take me. I had no idea back then, but now I think I know." He paused. "There's no coming back from this," he murmured under his breath over and over. He brought his trembling hands up to his face and stared at the gleaming blade of the machete, as if he saw the deaths the blade had caused play out all over again over the sharpened metal, taunting him.

Beth settled down next to him and took his hand. He didn't look up as he kept sobbing into himself. "No. You don't have to be like this, Conner. You already regret it, which means that you know you have to change."

"I don't think I can_._"

"Shut up!" The force of her command visibly startled him. Carefully, he lifted his head up to look at her. Beth put her hands on either side of his head and forced him to focus on her voice. "It might always be inside you, but _you_ and you alone decide if it's who you really _are._ It's only too late to change if you think it is. I know you're stronger than this. You won't let it beat you."

"No, I can't..."

"Leave it behind you. It'll be hard, I know, but in the end you _can_ come back from this."

"HOW?! Just tell me, tell me, please, please Beth, tell me HOW?! I don't want to… to be… this. What I am. I don't… want… Oh God..." He sniffled, then shut his eyes to keep the tears from overtaking him.

Beth was quiet for a moment before she responded. "Follow me." She grabbed his arm again and and felt him tense up.

But he didn't throw her off this time. She made her voice as comforting as she could while Conner slowly broke apart in front of her. "I know where to start," she whispered.


	23. (22) Defenders

The sun was low in the sky as they looked down into the hole. Behind the wall was a mound of dirt sitting next to large hole, a makeshift grave of sorts. Whoever had dug it hadn't stayed long enough to put anything in it, but they left a shovel and a makeshift cross assembled from sticks to serve as a tombstone.

Conner finished slipping on his new jacket. It was leather on the outside but with a fur lining to insulate the wearer during cool weather. Emblazoned on the back was the picture of an eagle holding with a tomahawk clamped in its talons as it flew through a cloudy sky with the word _Defenders_ inscribed over the image. The jacket itself was dirty and worn down, but to Conner it was new, even breathtaking. Slowly he gathered up the bloody, torn remains of his National Guard uniform and, without ceremony, dumped them into the hole. Beth took her place beside him in the twilight.

"This is good, Conner. I know it is." He bent down and scooped up the machete. His fingers locked themselves in place around the hilt and he found himself unable to release it.

"I… I…"

Beth struck a match and threw it into the pit. A tiny _whoosh_ sounded as the old uniform began to warp and melt under the scrutiny of the blaze. "Shhhh," she whispered, putting a finger to his lips. "It's okay. We're almost there." She looked at the machete.

His fingers refused to budge. He held his arm over the pit and felt the heat wash over it, waiting to be fed, but he kept the blade firmly in his grasp. He couldn't let go. "Beth, help," he squeaked. Beth didn't move.

He had to do this. He needed to if he wanted to come back. A wave of hot air rushed up from the crackling flames in the pit, seeming to sear him, and he imagined this was what a furnace felt like. _I can't…_

He looked away but Beth was there. Her eyes were pleading with him, but she made no move to intervene. Her sad gaze went from the weapon, to him, then to the pit. _I can't let her down._ Once again extending his arm, the machete was in the air over the roaring fire.

Then he felt her hand in his. Her fingers were wrapped around his free hand and she gripped him tightly. Sluggishly, almost against their will, his fingers around the machete's hilt began to uncurl with a slowness that was painful. He forced himself to watch as the malevolent weapon finally came free of his grasp and somersaulted down into the fire, clanging against the sides of the grave on the way down and landing atop his burning uniform. "You know it won't burn, right Beth?"

"That's not the important part." They stood there for a long while and watched the flames reduce the uniform to ash around the blood encrusted blade that had landed on top of it. After a time the fire began to die down to embers and the smoke shrunk from a billowing cloud to a trickling wisp ascending from the hole. Taking up the shovel, Conner began to scoop dirt into the hole. He worked tirelessly as he attempted to lay his demons to rest in the grave at his feet, but a nagging feeling told him that he would never be completely free.

At last the grave was filled and the evil blade was gone. His new jacket didn't fit him as well as his uniform had, perhaps a size too big, but he felt refreshed, almost like a new man. Beth took his hand again.

"You know you can let go, right?" he said after a prolonged silence.

"Yeah, I guess I could." She didn't.

"How do you know I won't go back?" He asked. "That part of me, the dark part that loves to kill, will always be inside, waiting to get out. I'll always want to… Whenever I have to kill again, it might slip out." She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

"I know it won't get out because you won't let it. And I'll be with you to help every step of the way." A calm settled over him like a blanket, and he knew he'd be alright.

A voice pierced the calm of the moment. A man speaking in tones of sorrow and distress was on the other side of the wall.

"I'm sorry," they heard. "I know you were close to them. They were good people."

A second voice made its way to them. "They were. They were the best." Beth raised a suspicious eyebrow at Conner as he stepped forward.

"What are you doing?"

He took a deep breath and handed her the hunting rifle. "Going to meet our new friends." A voice inside told him that these people might be dangerous but he ignored it. He knew what lay down that line of thinking. That type of thinking led down a dark path, one that he'd decided to turn back from at the edge of damnation.

As he strode through the gate and locked eyes with a bald man with his own jacket, the voice came again and told him that he needed to give in, just for a moment, and defend himself. Conner's gaze jumped from the bald man's eyes and fixated longingly on his neck at the same time his hand began to twitch. The thought of the rush he'd get if he could just get his hands around it... it was enticing... almost... irresistible...

**_No. _**He sucked in a deep breath and, beads of sweat beginning to run down his forehead, forced his vision back upward to stare Baldy in the eyes once more. He extended his still twitching arm for a handshake, trying to conceal his anxiety behind a false air of confidence.

It didn't work. Baldy's eyes narrowed and went from Conner to his hand as he examined the stumps of his missing fingers, then back up to Conner whose face was becoming unhealthily pale as he fought back the urge to lunge. With an air of suspicion, Baldy extended his own hand, took Conner's, and gave it a good shake."Name's Roman," the man said. "I don't suppose you have a name of your own?"

Then it stopped. His urge vanished and his hand stilled. The man's neck no longer called his attention to it and became... normal, as the whispers telling him to strike receded, admitting defeat. Conner allowed himself to release his breath in a grateful sigh. He shook Roman's hand back. "My name's Conner," he said. Roman let a smile catch his face for a brief moment before letting go of Conner's mutilated hand.

_Step One,_ he thought. He'd done it. He'd actually _done it. _It'd be tough, especially in a world as unforgiving as this, but maybe he could come back from this after all. Maybe he wasn't too far gone.

There was a light at the end of the tunnel. The tunnel was dark and the light was a pinprick, so small and far off like a distant star, but it was there.


	24. Epilogue

Out of the Fire

312 Days In

"Shit. That's something else." For the hundredth time since their meeting, Roman stared at the nubs of Conner's lost fingers as the ex-soldier held them up. "Does it still hurt?"

"A little," Conner confirmed. "I can still use a gun though. Not anything like the M4 I had when I was still in the Guard, but a hunting rifle shouldn't be too much trouble."

"Depending on the caliber you mean," Clive added.

"Of course I mean that, Clive."

"Anyway, you said that those people are dead, right? You got them all?"

"Um…" Conner's eyes became vacant as his thoughts brought him back to the bloodshed and the disgusting exhilaration of his rampage. "I uh…" Conner stumbled over his words, going silent as the images of the carnage in farmhouse wafted through his head.

"We made sure that they won't be hurting anyone anymore." She grabbed Conner's hand in an effort to snap him out of his trance. "Right?"

Conner felt the phantom pains of his fingers being taken from him by his best friend. He felt the force of his head slamming into the side of the shed as his captor cackled mercilessly from behind. His breath became short and hurried as white hots bolts of lightning jumped from one finger stump to the next, setting them on fire as if he were living it all over again.

"Conner? Are you okay?" It was Clive. His voice was the catalyst that brought Conner out of his waking nightmares and back to reality.

"Uh, yeah," Conner answered, doing his best to forget. This hadn't been his first "episode" since he and Beth left Lynch's compound behind them. Thankfully, they were becoming easier to manage. Just a few days ago he'd looked at Roman as a target instead of a potential friend and had to force himself not to choke the life out of him just to get a taste of the adrenaline rush he'd felt back at Lynch's camp. Now he just saw him as Roman. No creeping desire to hurt him, no dormant need to kill him. Each day, little by little, he was pulling himself back from the brink.

Roman's look was one of concern, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he steadily sliced open a rusted can of beans with his knife and began to eat. "Well, we know what that's like," he said as he scooped some beans into his mouth. "Clive and I were with a group that got attacked at a gas station a while back. There's all kinds of assholes out here these days, you know?"

"Yeah, I think I got the memo on that one," Conner snarked as he once again held up his hands. Clive rolled his eyes with a smirk on his face. The phantom pains were gone now as he recovered from the minor flashback and he felt he had to try to lighten the mood.

"Well, now that the comedy hour is out of the way," Roman deadpanned, "What are we going to do next?" The somewhat jovial mood subsided as the three others went silent, thinking.

Beth was the first to speak. "What about the coast? We could find a boat and sail to an island or something."

"No!" Clive screeched. Taken aback, Beth recoiled. "Sorry," he apologized. "Some of my friends and I were at the coast." He paused. "Things didn't go well, okay? Let's leave it at that."

"Sorry Clive. Alright, no coast," Beth said, moving on."I'm out of ideas. Conner?" The soldier shook his head. "Clive?"

"Nope."

Hesitantly, Roman raised his voice, drawing the group's attention to him. "I wasn't going to say anything," he admitted, "but have any of you heard of someplace called Wellington?" The others gave each other looks of confusion and suspicion.

Roman continued. "Now I'm not saying that it's real or anything, it's just something I heard. Before I met back up with Clive I ran across some asshole named Justin. He was a pretty shifty guy, but the way he was speaking just made me believe, for a second, that he wasn't full of it."

"Roman, are you really taking advice from random strangers?" Beth chided.

"Not if I don't have to, but we don't have anything else right now, do we?" None of them offered up an alternative idea. "Well, he never mentioned the name of this place. He only said that there was some community, or even more than just the one, farther north. He said that they had food, guns, the works. That people are rebuilding."

Dubious, Conner interrupted. "If he never said this place was called Wellington, where'd you get the name?"

"I saw the words 'North to Wellington' written on the wall of some church way out in the sticks. Written a lot of times by a lot of people. It wasn't the first time that name popped up, either. If that Justin guy was honest, even though we have no reason to think he was, we could try heading North."

"Roman, we don't even know what's up there!" Clive's voice was raised. "It could be more walkers, or bandits, or maybe even some kind of super flu or something. We just don't know."

"Isn't that the point?" Beth asked. "We know everything is bad down here, but it could be better up North. I don't want to live like _this_," she said, gesturing around with her hand, "for the rest of my life. If there's a chance it's better up there, we have to take it.

Roman pondered the question for several seconds. "Alright," he said, "We'll put it to a vote. Clive?"

"I vote we stay here in the South. For all we know the only thing waiting up there for us is our death."

"Beth?"

"I say we make a go of it. There's nothing for us down here, but there's a chance that the north is safer. That people are rebuilding. I want to be a part of that."

"What's it going to be, Conner? You've got the swing vote."

For a long time he simply sat there. The possibilities swirled through his mind like a hurricane as he tried to pluck the correct answer out of his thoughts. As always, the right answer eluded him as if it had never existed at all.

To his left was Clive, looking at him expectantly.

Ahead of him was Roman, eyes scanning the perimeter while his ears were tuned to Conner for an answer.

And to his right, ever by his side, was Beth. Cross legged, she was patiently waiting for him to speak. The aura of calm and hope that rushed off of her like a waterfall was, as always, present and in full force. He'd been growing more and more dependent on her in recent days. Anyone else would have just left him after what he'd done, left in order to save themselves. Not her. She saved him. She was still saving him, from himself.

"There's nothing for us down here," he croaked. "I've seen things… done things… that scare me more than you could know. In the months since this thing began I've seen everyone around me die or change for the worse, and I've lost almost everyone I cared about. Are things better up North? Fuck if I know, but I'm tired of this." He sighed, feeling like he'd aged ten years in that split second. "I'm just so tired of being afraid. Afraid of the walkers and assholes like Lynch. Afraid of myself." He turned back to Beth and saw her glittering smile, and continued to gaze as he spoke. "I say we go for it. I think it's time that we-" Conner realized that his hand had drifted over to Beth's and taken hold of it.

Embarrassed, he pulled his hand back and stammered. "Uh, I mean it's time that _all of us,_ found a place where it's safe. Where we can let go of the past without being reminded of it everywhere we go, and where we can finally come to terms with what we've done, and move on from it."

Beth took his hand, her smile warmer than ever.

"Actually, Roman, I like the sound of that," Clive admitted. "I'll change my vote to North. What's the worst that could happen?"

Satisfied, and even a little proud, Roman stood. "That's just what I was thinking. North it is. We'll have to gather up some supplies first, and it may be awhile before we can actually get under way, but it's a plan. North to Wellington."


End file.
